Mindmending's Aftermath
by Anonymississippi
Summary: Donna's life of garbled memories after Journey's End. Wilf was right; she was better with him. Although, who is this 'him' she keeps seeing? Can she do anything to fix it? After a brilliant revelation, an adventure ensues with a man in a pinstripe suit. He could be her friend... or more. Will Donna fix it, even if the point is fixed?
1. Chapter 1

_**So... This, well, not sure what to call this. It's one of the heaviest pieces I've written, and I feel possibly a little OOC because of that. But I'm always thinking of ways to fix Journey's End, and this was just one more attempt. It started out as a hurt/comfort piece, but I think it's morphed to a full-out multi-genre fic. If the first bit's a little heavy for your liking, please stick with it. Anyway, don't own; it's Moffat's and RTD's. Enjoy :)  
**_

She supposed it all started with the lottery ticket. A wedding present from her mother and grandfather, just a slip of paper with ink and numerals that basically secured her future. Couldn't have cost them more than a few quid, and now, here she was, with half of £19.4 million, in a lonesome albeit chic flat looking out over her up-and-coming neighborhood in West Kinsington. Oh, hadn't she mentioned? She was alone… again.

Donna Noble crushed the bag of crisps she'd barely touched, rolled it up, and tossed it opposite the room toward the bin. She expelled a frustrated huff, blowing her fringe as she stood to retrieve the discarded bag from the floor. Not exactly a sharp shooter. That was yet another occupation she could add to her list of _Things She Was Not_.

For example, she was not married. Lord no, just because she'd had a wedding, a good bloke, a piece of paper that made it all legal and a few months of contentment, did that mean she had a marriage? She was not employed, beyond the odd news interview here and there that had gradually worn off these last few months, about her winning the lottery and all. Big whoop, temp from Chiswick, newlywed termagant turned housewife awarded largest lotto in decades; even better were the headlines after the annulment: _Money Sours Marriage_, _Lotto Couple Lost Love_, declared the papers. But they were wrong. It wasn't the money. She was not well, not exactly. Her body felt fine, physically, but something deeper twisted her gut, shot twinges to the back of her brain, especially when she slept; that is, if she slept at all. And, though not last on the list of _Things She Was Not_, but certainly not the least: she was not happy.

Donna ran a tired hand over her face, a habit she'd picked up sometime that year. Glancing the clock, she grabbed her pocketbook and settled on her green coat, slinging one arm in as she heard her phone vibrate on the kitchen counter. The display read 'Mum', so she pressed ignore. Extracting her hair from under the coat collar, she donned a scarf and was just about to rotate the knob when the alarm on her wristwatch went off. Three o'clock. Time for neutral; time for normal; time for nothing. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, the impending blankness spreading across the edges of her cranium. Licking her dry lips she barreled back into the kitchen and popped the top on her pillbox, dry-swallowing two mood stabilizers before slamming the door behind her.

She didn't even lock it. She didn't even care.

* * *

"So, how are you feeling today?" Dr. Kerry asked.

He shifted in his plush chair, twill weave pattern trousers brushing together, increasing a dormant static current of 297 picofards. The resulting discharge would register as soon as he picked up his clipboard with the steel frame, right about…

"Oooh!" he said. "Shocked myself."

Donna's face remained neutral. She didn't know how she knew about the shock. She just did.

"Back to what I was saying. How are you feeling? Has the prescription adjustment lifted your mood, or are you still restless? Insomnia bouts? Fatigue?"

She stared blankly at Dr. James Kerry, her psychiatrist for going on four months now. He was an attractive, single, late thirty something heralded as the best and brightest therapist by all the fashionable poshes from Knightsbridge and Chelsea. He was expensive, but she could afford it. The best. She needed the best, because she hadn't felt like herself in ages.

"I'm feeling… foggy," Donna said.

Dr. Kerry took two whole minutes to write on his clipboard. She'd said three words and it apparently warranted a paragraph of analysis. "Can you expand on that?"

Her once dauntless features looked tired, eyes crinkling from the glare as she watched the streetfolk stroll by the window.

"Whenever I see people, read things, whatever… it's just, blurry. And when I talk to my mum, or my mates, when I listen to music, it's all garbled. It's like there's this filter in my head that has to register everything before I'm allowed to hear it, to take it in proper. I'm only getting half of it, and it's making me half of what I should be."

"You've thought this through, then?"

"I just want to feel like me again. I'm just so—" she swished a nonchalant wrist in the air. "I dunno— lost, I guess… all the time."

"Are the sleeping aids helping?" Dr. Kerry asked.

She gave a noncommittal shrug.

"And the anti-depressants? Are you still taking them?"

"Yes."

Dr. Kerry made another note. "On a scale of one to ten, how normal have you felt for the past two weeks?"

"Negative fifty."

"No, really, we may need to adjust your dosage."

"Again?" Donna asked, frustration returning. The most she ever felt like her old self was when she got mad. Well, that, and when… when _he_ appeared, but also when she got riled up. And _he_ had the expert habit of pushing her most exposed emotional buttons. But all the misdirected anger in the world couldn't turn her back to the old Donna Noble. Not that she was that great before anyway. But she was definitely better than this; she certainly felt more than this.

Donna fell back heavily in her chair. "I guess a two."

"You said you were at a four on your previous regiment. Would you be opposed to reversing your dosage to what you were taking last month?"

"It didn't seem to help very much."

"Yes…" Dr. Kerry drawled, pen flying over paper. "But you felt better then, correct?"

Donna nodded slightly.

"Then I'll write a new prescription. Have you been talking with your friends? Family?"

"Everyday." Lie.

"Are you visiting them, keeping in touch? We've talked about your distancing yourself from them, this unhealthy isolation."

"I ride out to Chiswick at least twice a week." Lie number two. "And I've called up my mates, too." False. "I just feel like I'm—"

"Waiting for someone," Dr. Kerry finished.

"Yeah."

"Donna, we've been through this."

No response from the patient, but Kerry jabbed the paper again. That clipboard would be overflowing with ink puddles and poor physician print if he scrawled any more notes on it. He flipped the page and continued writing. Great. She was a two-pager.

"And you're still not having the hallucinations?"

"No, they're gone. They were gone last time. It's been like, a month."

False. She still had them, though not as severe as they once were. London, covered in ash, molten liquid dripping down skyscrapers; books, lining her flat walls, with shadowed shelves between her sofa and her sink; choruses, a symphony of eerie music from curious figures in navy suits, drowning out traffic and causing her to crumble in the middle of her mother's sitting room, sobbing. And him. Can't forget about _him_, not that _he'd_ let her. They weren't nightmares because she hardly slept. She was conscious the whole time, but now she could tell when she was hallucinating, sort of an increased awareness, along with her rapidly expanding knowledge of every subject known to man. She'd yet to clue anyone in on that last bit though. She shook her head when she heard Dr. Kerry calling her name.

"Donna?"

"Hmm?"

"Let's talk about why you left Chiswick."

"Alright."

He waited, but Donna gave no sign that she planned to continue without further prodding.

"So, why did you leave Chiswick?"

"Because I'm far to old to still be living with my mum."

"That can't be the only reason."

"No, it's not, I s'pose." She ran her hand over her face again, nervous habit, propping her cheek on her left fist.

"After the wedding, I moved into Shaun's place, like any normal couple. I'd already been practically living there anyway, only home on the weekends to pick up this or that. Then this whole…" she gestured vaguely with her free hand. "…mess started, and Shaun and I, we'd row nearly every night. But it was me, it was always me—"

"Donna, we've discussed Shaun. This is not your fault. It's got more to do with your illness."

"I'm not some invalid that needs coddling," she barked, the tapestry of calm falling for the first time that day. Jerking her head down, she shut her eyes, the alarming gold behind her lids swirling where it should be black. She focused on her breathing, the gold receding as neutrality returned.

"I didn't mean to snap," she said. "I'm just used to doing things on my own. I don't like having to be looked after when I used to be so capable."

"But that's what I don't understand," Dr. Kerry said, leaning forward in his own seat. "You're perfectly capable. Despite the divorce, your move, even your hallucinations, you seem to be maintaining an acceptable level of functionality within society."

"Aren't you supposed to be telling me how screwed up I am so I'll keep coming back and you'll keep taking my money?"

Dr. Kerry grinned at her.

"Look, you're not like many of my patients. Yes, some of them have real problems, but some of them are just spoiled toffs who need someone to dump their woes upon. That's not you. You're seeing things, but you're handling it, surprisingly, as if you deal with these strange events every day. You're doing quite well for yourself; you've taken it upon your own shoulders to ask for help when you need it, and you haven't gone bust like most ordinary Joe's do after a big payday comes their way. You've made wise investments with that money you've won. You're still involved with the trading market?"

"Yeah."

"And how's that going?"

"Good. Just picked up stock in three companies that had their best quarters since the recession hit."

"See! That's good, that's a positive move forward, an involvement outside of yourself. And will you stay with the companies? Or pull out now with your gains?"

"Oh, I gave the money away."

"Was your broker happy about that?"

"I don't have a broker."

"Your accountant then?"

"Don't have one of them, either."

"Then how did you know where to invest?"

"Just a hunch, really." False. There was a certain amount of gut instinct involved in playing the stock market, but when she did the research, selected the shares, identified the system, it was as if all of the gains and losses ticked across the electronic banner in her head, scrolling out expected profits for the next quarter, year, and on into the future. Like some kind of financial super power.

Dr. Kerry made yet another note. Her file had to be ginormous.

"And if you don't mind my asking, who received the funds?"

"I bought some other shares, added some to the savings, but the bulk of it I split between a non-profit that specializes in preventing human trafficking and F.A.V.O.R."

"What's favor?"

"F.A.V.O.R. The Foreign Ash and Volcano Organization for Research. It researches—"

"Ash and volcanoes."

"Yeah," Donna said.

"Any reason why those two organizations deserved your money? Or do you just go down a list and pick any charity at random?"

"No, I just… people should never be held in captivity. And volcanoes… call it a personal interest."

"All these funds and you didn't send any back to Chiswick?" Dr. Kerry asked.

"And now we're back to my mother. It's always the mother, innit?"

"It's not always the mother."

"That'd make your job too easy."

"I'm just saying, aside from all the money business, you left. You could have found yourself a perfectly nice place around Chiswick. You didn't want to be in the city centre proper, or the country; you told me so yourself. You're not _far_ from home, but you've distanced yourself nonetheless. It's not so much about you getting to someplace as it is about escaping."

"I'm not running from her if that's what you mean!"

"What about your grandfather?"

The dull ache in her head grew more prominent, her emotions whisking about like pinballs in her skull, combating the chemicals attempting to maintain that prolonged haze.

"Donna, have you visited his gravesite yet?"

Despite the small roil, the blankness won out. She reverted to equilibrium as she forced her voice steady and her tears down.

"Everyday." True, always true.

"Do you think you didn't move back in with your mother because your grandfather wasn't there anymore?"

"What do you want me to say? That I'm sad? We've established this from day one. Yes, I'm sad, I'm bloody miserable everyday, because I've not had a life for the past two years and I don't know why!"

"Why do you say you've not had a life?"

"Shall we recap why I'm here, then? Starts out all well and good, doesn't it? Can't remember a thing for nearly a year, but then I'm getting married, on top of the world, win the lottery, and then, boom! My stupid _mind_ tells me something's wrong. Can't keep a job, not that that's new. Can't keep my head on straight. I start… seeing things. People that shouldn't be there. And then I just… know stuff, stuff I've never even heard of before. Then I gotta go see a _therapist_, and get on _medication_, but even that's no good. And so, the spiral begins…"

"Donna—"

"Oh no you don't, I'm on a roll," she said, face strangely stoic. It's as if she's recounting someone else's life, seeing it all through a long, distorted lens. Tears well but never fall.

"My husband files for divorce. Not that I could blame him, what with a mad wife and all. I lose my position, _again_, just a gopher at some low-level manufacturing plant. Then my granddad goes and… _dies_. Just gone, like everything else. And my mom can barely stand to look at me. Why did I leave Chiswick? Because I was going around like nothing was wrong. It didn't even hurt to be there. It doesn't hurt now. But it hurt my mum, so I left. But what about me, that's the question for the big cash prize, right? What do I do? I _function_, as you put it. I boll about, eat chips, watch telly, go to the park on nice days. I'm sad, but I don't _feel_. But it doesn't matter, because I've come to the conclusion that I'm not going to be happy. I'll settle for content. Dr. Kerry, if you can just get me to content, I'd be, if not happy, then satisfied. Yes, I'd be alright with that."

She glanced out the window again, grey clouds hovering over the once bright day. Dr. Kerry took his pen out and made another note on the pad.

"One final question for today, Donna. And it's rather important."

"Shoot."

"Have you ever thought about harming yourself?"

Never turning from the window, her jaw slacks a bit before she answers.

"Of course not." False.

_**Reviews Appreciated.**_


	2. Meet JD

**A sincere thank you to all who have followed, favorited, or reviewed. Nice to know it's being read, even after Donna and 10 have um, moved on. More chapters to come! Sad to say, I don't own anything. It's the BBC, and Moffat, and Davies, and that whole crew. As always, reviews appreciated, even criticism, because I hope to improve. Enjoy :)**

He's waiting for her when she walks down the stairs from Dr. Kerry's office. He's dry despite the light rain, thick brown hair askew and hands stuffed in the pockets of his tan greatcoat. He rests casually against the side of the building, his trainer-clad feet crossed one over the other, and catches her cloudy eyes as she exits the building. Donna ignores him, debating whether or not to flag down a cabbie. The rain feels good though, chill spreading as the droplets cling to the strands of her messy hair; she about faces and resolves to make the block to avoid him.

No such luck.

She hears his feet and cheery tone before he catches up to her peripherals.

"That went swimmingly, didn't it?" he said.

"Please, not today," she responded half-heartedly, turning a corner.

"Awe," he droned, fake pout hollowing his already thin face. "Not happy to see me?"

"Am I ever happy to see you?" she murmured, standing amongst strangers at the streetlight.

"I like to think so; we are best friends after all."

"No we're not."

"Yes we are," he said indignantly, rushing to catch her as she hurried over the crosswalk. "The best of friends. I love you."

"Well I don't love you. You're not real."

"That hurts, hurts right in the hearts."

"Please, be quiet. People are starting to stare." Donna gave him her best angry look, which was significantly less angry than one of her slightly perturbed looks from days gone by. She tucked her arms across her chest and continued walking, pace sluggish.

They turned another corner, a surprisingly blank stretch of pavement in front of the pair.

"Alright, this is better," he said, smiling.

"Not really."

"Come on, there's no one around to hear me… well, you."

"I wish you wouldn't say things like that. In fact, I wish you wouldn't say anything at all."

"You can't sentence me to silence, I couldn't bare it!" he said, throwing his hand across his chest in mock trauma. "I'm nothing without my voice; I told you that once."

"I wish I could just banish you, it'd make my life a whole lot easier."

"I could make it easier, if you would just—"

"No. We're not arguing over this again. I won't do it."

"But how do you know this isn't exactly what you're looking for? I'm the someone you need, Donna, the someone you're searching for," he said, reaching for her arm. "I am what you want me to be, and everything that _you _could be, too."

"What is that supposed to mean?!" she reeled, slapping his hand away. "You're imaginary! In my head, you dumbo! I don't even know who you are."

"Come now Donna, I'm J.D."

"You're only J.D. because I needed something to call you… That name is arbitrary, I can't go around calling you 'Hallucination' when I want to talk to you."

"So you _do_ want to talk to me!"

"No, I… I don't—"

"It's alright Donna," J.D. said, closing the distance between them. "I'm always here for you."

"Uhm, miss?"

Donna started, noticing a kid with a backpack and earbuds in under his hoodie. He yanked one cord from his head, summarizing Donna. "Who are you talking to?"

"No one," Donna said, shaking her head. "Just… no one."

"Oh, well, sorry. You just seemed upset—"

"I'm fine, kind of you to notice."

"Sure. You best be getting out of the rain. You're soaked through." The boy pivoted and raced across the empty street, leaving Donna and J.D. in the murky grey.

"Nice kid, I'm suddenly much more hopeful about the future manners of humanity," J.D. said, darting after Donna as she left him staring after the kid.

"What did you think?"

"About what?" she asked.

"About the kid."

"I dunno, what about him?"

"Do you like kids?"

"Sure I like kids, but I'm not having this conversation with you."

"It doesn't mean anything."

"Of course it does, everything _means_ something, because every conversation I have with you I'm essentially having with myself."

"But you're hesitant on the childbearing front? Don't know why, you've really only got a couple more—" J. D. stopped speaking suddenly, Donna's brain finally exerting control over where that sentence would lead.

"I can't think about that now while I'm unhealthy," Donna said.

"Who says you're unhealthy? You're the peak of physical perfection. Plus you're ginger, which is like winning the genetic lottery!"

"According to whom?" Donna argued.

"Me, of course."

"As if you're the absolute authority. And, not that it's any of your business, Dr. Kerry's scheduled a CT scan for me on Thursday," she said, broaching a heated topic.

"Why would he want to do a thing like that?"

"Because I'm going mad, and if I hit my head he'll be able to tell, and then he'll give me more medicine, which means you'll _go away_," she said, leaving him in the street, an oncoming car passing through his intangible form.

"Hey, that's not fair!" he yelled after her, watching her retreat.

She scuttled down a few more blocks at a faster pace, suddenly aware of the tiny shakes and goose pimples creeping over her body from the dank cold. Two more blocks and she'd be home. Home to do what, she didn't know. She contemplated the sleeping pills in her medicine cabinet… Donna dismissed the thought and turned the final corner; he was there again, materialized at the entrance to her flat. She'd discovered she couldn't physically shut him out, because he'd just appear in her kitchen; or worse, the time she screamed when she met him, wide-eyed with a tub of ice cream tucked under his arm as she exited her bathroom in the middle of the night. She'd nearly called the police, but a lingering sense of a similar encounter in her muddled past kept her from her mobile. Running her hand over her face again, she concluded this would be another sleepless night, all of her efforts focused on keeping John Doe, well, J.D., in check.

"I really don't think you should go in for the brain scan," he said, eyes downcast as she punched in her code.

"And what makes you such an expert?"

"'Cause I'm a Doctor."

Multicolored flashes exploded behind her eyes and a horrendous gong banged against her eardrums, like she was standing inside a kaleidoscopey Big Ben. She pitched over and slid against the open doorway, skittering down the wet hall floor as rainwater pooled around her crumpled figure. J.D. stood looking on, expressionless.

"I just feel that a scan like that will cause more trouble than it's worth."

"Not if it's going to help me," Donna spat, trying to stand.

J.D. hoisted her up by the sleeve of her coat.

"You don't know that. It could very well do more harm than good."

"How could it be any worse than what's going on now?" Donna returned, suddenly aware of her soaking attire and shaking hands.

"It can always get worse," J.D. said.

She climbed the stairs without him, not the least surprised when she found him outside of her door.

"Why didn't you just go on inside?" she said.

"Because I want you to invite me in," he said softly. "In more ways than one, obviously." J.D. pointed toward her head and then at the door; he gave her a pointed look, brown eyes looking hopeful as her hesitant hand turned the key.

"For the thousandth time, I don't want you here."

"Your words say no, but your eyes say—"

She gave him her best cutting glare.

"Hell no," he finished. "I miss that," he whispered, lifting his arm as if to touch her. She flinched, and he let his hand fall.

"How can you miss something about me when you're just a product of my own delusions?" she asked, shouldering the door open.

"Because that's not all I am, and you know it."

Donna grinned ironically. "That's just it though," she said, sliding inside her apartment. "I don't know anything anymore."

She shut the door in his face.

* * *

Donna stood in the middle of her flat staring at the floor. J.D., her own personal hallucination, her coping mechanism, her buffer to pain and numbness, was starting to become so _real_ to her. He popped in and out of her life multiple times a day, to say hello or grab a bite or just to sit with her. He'd become everything she'd lost in the real world: a friend, a confidant, a bolster of conversation and an instigator for activity. He'd once suggested they go to the zoo, and it wasn't until she was standing outside the alligator exhibit, scaly eyes staring back at her through smudged glass that she realized she had made the entire trip by herself. She'd even bought him a t-shirt, not that she would ever be able to wear it considering how her hallucination resembled a sickly beanpole.

Donna couldn't help but feel she'd met someone like him, known someone like him at some point or another. She vaguely recalled a friend of her grandfather's, John something-or-other, a man she shook hands with briefly after something with the planets, something big that had happened. But that meeting was during the stint where she'd gone foggy; she'd lost so many snippets during that time, she could very well have just latched onto the poor bloke's face and made him into her imaginary friend, a deluded imprint on a stranger.

During one of her and Shaun's worst rows, he'd accused her of cheating. That was before the first therapist's visit, before the first incorrect diagnosis, before there had been something _uncontrollable_ wrong with her. Cheating she could control, but she almost didn't deny it. Because J.D. had been there with her since day one of the fog, her only constant as she faded into a portion of her once vibrant self. Being with a man that way, relying on him more than her own husband; it was wrong, and Donna knew it. But it didn't feel wrong. In many ways, she felt as though she'd known J.D. longer than Shaun, longer than many of her friends, like this man was a _part_ of her in ways even more intimate than that of a husband and wife. Their relationship transcended reason, inexplicable notions connecting them on every level. The most prominent of which she was focused on now: how can I have the best relationship I've ever experienced in my life with a man who doesn't exist?

Turning to look at the clock, Donna groaned when she realized she'd been standing on her open floor for 28 minutes. Another half hour of thinking, just, gone. She shed her now-drying green coat and discarded it in the middle of the floor. The coat was soon joined by her wet scarf, shirt, socks and trousers, a trail of rumpled clothing leading to the bathroom. She stood under the scalding spray until her skin tinged pink, brown freckles gaping against the pale canvas as her shivers subsided. The showers helped return a little bit of feeling in the beginning, but she'd once had the water so hot she'd scalded her back and had to go the hospital. Dr. Kerry suggested monitoring shower times after that incident.

Withdrawing from the shower, she folded herself into a towel and wiped half-heartedly at the foggy mirror, double-taking as she caught J.D.'s concerned glance in the reflection. He was posted up on the top of her toilet, elbows resting on his knees, stare amiable, as if his presence in her bathroom were the most natural thing in the world. She bowed her head, unwilling to argue further, and succumbed to his presence.

"What's tomorrow?" he asked.

"Wednesday."

"Oh, I rather like Wednesdays, middle of the week and all," he said. "Middles are always my favorite, when you're right in the thick of things and nothing makes sense. And the weather is supposed to clear up. We should go to the gardens tomorrow. I hear the crocuses are lovely this week."

"An' oo di oo 'ear dat frum?" she garbled, tooth brush pumping across her molars. She spit into the sink, voice rising as she turned the tap. "Do you have contacts at Kensington and Hyde?"

"Actually, last time I was there—"

"No, stop it, I don't want to know," she said, raising a hand behind her. "Whenever you tell stories it makes my head hurt." She leaned heavily over the sink and opened the medicine cabinet for more pills.

He scoffed, loudly.

"What now?" she asked.

"I don't think you need those," he said, making a grab for the container.

"You don't know what I need."

"Donna, I think I do," he said incredulously.

"You're the cause of these," she said, shaking the tiny bottle furiously. The clacking sound of pills on plastic had acted as her terrifying lullaby in recent months.

"No. I would never have you put mind-altering chemicals in your body. I would never want to change you that way…" he sighed, slowly approaching behind her. "Unless, it was the only way… I would never take away your free will."

"Free will. That's a laugh. I don't think I've been in control of my own life for years now, or at least since I met you."

J.D. looked hurt, his face dipping behind her in the bathroom mirror. "I never meant for you to feel like you didn't have a choice."

"I can't very well blame my hallucination for his own existence," Donna said, suddenly feeling like the bad guy. She frequently felt like the bad guy.

"No. That's not what I meant," he said softly.

"I know. But I'd rather you not elaborate."

"Did the gold come back?"

"Yes. Earlier, just behind my eyelids." She turned slowly, closing her eyes and putting her fingers to her temples. "That's why I take those, J.D. If I'm being really honest, it's not that I don't want to see you, or talk to you, or do whatever it is we do together. You're all I've got left."

He nodded, bringing his own fingers to meet hers on the sensitive concave, to gently rub away the ache in her head. She'd only just gotten used to this action. J.D. frequently framed his hands over the sides of her head, massaging soothing circles against her temples. At least, as soothing of a massage as a non-corporeal specter can perform. On his first attempt, she skittered away like some desperate animal, somehow linking that action with pain and loss. Only within the past few weeks had she relented to his not-quite-touch, the pesky gold tendrils of energy quickly fading when his insubstantial fingertip brushed her skin.

"But that gold light is going to be the death of me," she continued, shaking off his hands. "If it's something in my head, my brain, something I have the power and the funds to _fix_, then I'll be damned if I don't take every step I can to get it done."

"You don't need to be _fixed_," J.D. said. "You're brilliant just the way you are."

"I've got a mother, some psychiatrists and what's left of my more tangible friends who would disagree with you on that point."

J.D. pulled her into his arms. She could almost feel his cheek resting against her wet hair, and she thought for a moment, just a moment, that he was real. She tried to clutch him tighter, to burrow her face into the brown fabric encasing his shoulder. Her arms swished through him and her head bobbed against nothing. She repositioned herself so that it felt like a hug, even if it was with the air.

"What are you thinking?" he asked her.

"How much better I would be if you were real." She lifted her head to look at him, only to find the steamy walls of her lavatory vacant of people, imaginary or otherwise. She toweled her hair into submission and exited the bathroom. Sinking onto her mattress, she drifted in and out of wakefulness while doing her best not to dream of him.

**Reviews appreciated. :D**


	3. One Way or Another

**Why yes, the plot does thicken. Like a pasty goo that instills queasiness in the preparation, but somehow turns into a wonderfully sweet cake. Can't guarantee this is going to be super sweet, though. Just a warning. Also, don't own. BBC, Moffat, Davies. Also, thank you for reviews and follows. They make me happy! Enjoy :)**

Donna woke hours later around midnight, palms pressed tightly over her ears to drown out the song; a gloriously horrifying melody that plagued her on the worst nights. She was locked away, in her dreams, on her sofa, at the market, around the sun, always confined. Always captive. It was almost like she was being hunted. Maybe not her body, but her consciousness, her understanding, the thing she wanted most in the world. She wanted something she didn't have, so how could someone be after it? Fearing paranoia would only increase the number of shrink sessions she attended, she put the idea out of her mind and rose to make tea.

She stared out the window as the kettle boiled, night black as oil and just as slick. The streets shimmered from the earlier rain, puddles scattered helter-skelter on cracked asphalt. A taxi flew down the street, hit a puddle and showered a couple walking hand-in-hand on the sidewalk. The woman gesticulated furiously; her incoherent ramblings giving way to laughter and a smile as the man once again retrieved her hand and set down the street at a run, careless of their soaking attire. Running. Hand in hand. The pair became hazy, the shimmery blackness around them brightened, golden hues engulfing every sign, every doorway, every street lamp. She adjusted her focus, briefly glimpsing a shard of gold in her own reflected stare. She looked harder, but the kettle whistled and she turned away from her reflection to pour her cuppa.

One hand tingling on a steamy mug, Donna opened her pantry. Empty. She knew the fridge was the same; her last few meals consisted of take-out or had been neglected all together. She remembered eating breakfast, dry toast and tea; and a third of a bag of crisps. Or was that yesterday? The antidepressants staunched her appetite, resulting in weight loss and depleted energy. She knew she should eat, that she felt a bit better when she did, but her last excursion to the market had been one of the worst. J.D. was on every aisle, stuffing his face full of Jellie Babies like a 4-year-old, yammering on about the molecular components of glucose and gelatin, which culminated in a shouting match between the two about the use of animal by-products in baking agents. Only when the store manager drew her attention away from the refrigerated section did she realize she had been yelling at the milk display, in front of the entire store. She'd been so embarrassed she'd bolted, along with about seven pounds worth of groceries.

She dressed quickly and left her flat, making the fifteen minute trek to the all-hours Tesco. Hopefully she could avoid a large crowd this late at night, heaven forbid J.D. make a scene again. She bypassed a person or two on the pavement, eyeing them carefully. Even before the haze, as Donna liked to call it, she knew when she felt uncomfortable walking alone on a London street. But now, she almost purposefully put herself in questionable situations, just to see if something would happen. Due to her insomnia, she'd take strolls or even jogs at three in the morning, wondering just what there was at night that she'd missed her whole life. Adventure seemed to be seriously lacking, aside from the occasional drunk or night shift security.

A short stone wall separated the footpath from the park where a mist settled over the finely manicured shrubbery. Donna saw a man near a tree by the gazebo, watching her as she trotted down the street. At least, she thought it was a man. Stocky and short; super short. Donna wasn't a tall woman, but even she could tell the bloke couldn't have been more than five feet. Features shrouded by a hood, he disappeared further into the park, leaving Donna at the mercy of an overactive and chemically depressed imagination. A hobo? A jogger? Possibly a circus performer, abandoned by his company on account of his ginger hair and sharp lip. Or a soldier… Where that thought found its genesis, Donna never knew. The bright lights of the all-hours superstore drew her attention elsewhere. Grabbing a shopping basket, she purposefully abandoned thoughts of the peculiar little man in the park.

Emerging forty-five minutes later, Donna cringed as she readjusted her shopping bag from her ill-managed finger grip.

"'s better," she mumbled to herself.

She passed the park again this time, but gave no notice to the little being still watching her from behind the trees. Her attention had fallen back on J.D., standing under a street lamp not 20 yards away.

"Late night hunger pains, Miss Noble?" he queried.

"Upon realizing I've had only two meals in two days, yes, my stomach began whaling like an Indian tribal chant."

"Can I take that for you?"

"I'd like to see you try."

He reached for the bag in her hand, fingers ghosting through the plastic handle. "At least I offered," he said, shamefaced.

"You're an idiot."

"Better an idiot than a lunatic."

She turned abruptly and attempted a sharp slap. Her hand passed right through his head, sending her off balance and over the curb. Collecting herself, she returned some loosed produce and a package of instant rice to the bag with the rest of her food. Standing and facing J.D., she extended a hand.

"Truce?" she said warily.

"Of course."

He extended his matterless hand to hers and only nearly touched her palm. The glow returned.

"Would you look at that?" he said, grinning.

"Nope. Definitely not looking at that," she said, picking up her pace back to her flat.

"I think you should try again."

"Because the other two times worked so brilliantly?"

"Because something is about to change. It's different now!"

"What's different?"

"Call it a hunch. Another day or so, I'd wager, but we're right on the rim of something; and once that something starts, I'm afraid I'll never see you again. Of course, you probably wouldn't have much of a problem with that."

"That's not— you know… I—" she had to stop talking to seriously consider his words.

Would it be bad if she never saw him again? If she tried again, would it make the gold go away? Or was it her subconscious, knowing she had a CT scheduled, asserting itself through J.D.? Knowing this might be the only thing that she could do to fix herself before they locked her up in the looney bin for good? Was she ready to risk it? Her mom was so terrified the second time around, she had convinced herself it was a suicide attempt. Not, if she was truthful, that she hadn't contemplated it. Her eyes shifted to find J. D., lank and aloof, but matching her stride for stride. He had stayed with her through both attempts, and had facilitated, as only he could, the process in its entirety. But if he was always there wasn't it just herself who was staying with herself, because J.D. was nothing more than what she _made_ him to be, because he was a projection of something in her mind and basically _was_ her, because she had to be willing so _he_ could be willing, and if _he_ was trying to convince her to try this process again maybe it was really her own thoughts trying to…

She shook her head, escaping an endless circular logic trap.

"I guess third time might be a charm."

His face brightened instantly.

"Really? You'll do it? I think I may have figured out what went wrong last time."

"Bully for you, but don't think it's because I have any escalated faith in your mind mending abilities," she answered jokingly. "If this goes south, I'm seeing a neurologist the following day. He or she will fix whatever it is _you_ screw up."

"Donna, I promise. This time will be different."

"You sound like every man I've ever dated."

"No," he said seriously. "It will be different. The void, and your body… I think you're more ready now. I can feel that something will change. That this might be one of the last times I see you." He waited as she opened the street door to her flat, this time taking the stairs with her in silence.

"How long will it take this time?" she asked, unpacking her groceries from the bag.

He leaned against her kitchen counter casually.

"A few hours, like the last time I suppose."

"Maybe I should speak with my mum… say that I'm going somewhere and I'll call tomorrow night. That way, if something happens, she'll phone; and if I don't answer, if something goes wrong, she'll know, and she can—"

She stopped her rambling, eyeing J.D. carefully.

"Donna, you have to commit to this fully. Safety nets only hinder the process, tie you too closely with this reality."

"You talk like there's more than one!"

He gave her a knowing look. She sighed, removing a knife from the cutlery drawer and selecting a lightly bruised apple from her shopping bag.

"Fine then," she said, bringing the knife down sharply through apple flesh. "I guess you were right about one thing."

"I'm right about so many things, you'll have to be more specific."

"That this will be a change. This will change everything."

She continued slicing firmly, mechanically, until the apple morphed into eight relatively symmetric slices, cored and crisp. She arranged them on a plate, suddenly entranced by the reddish stain on each slice of the white apple pulp. She lifted her left hand skyward, stopping what looked like a fairly nasty gash on her index finger.

"You should get some bandages for that," J.D. said carefully, almost stoic.

Donna nodded herself, and stuck her finger in her mouth. Her stomach lurched at the metallic taste, yet she felt little to no pain in her hand. That was a bad sign.

"There's one of two ways this can go, and I think I'm fine with both of them," she said, running her finger under the tap.

"What are the two ways?" J.D. asked, closing the distance between them, carefully surveying her injured finer.

"One: You fix whatever's wrong in my head and I don't ever have to worry about this, about you… again." She removed her finger from the stream and shook her hand. "And two…" She drew the semi-mutilated finger along his not-quite-there jaw line and gazed upward, eyes equal parts sad and resigned. "I'm going all in on this. So maybe, if it doesn't work, it'll kill me."

J.D. had the decency to look shocked and attempted to reach for her. His arms floated through her, unable to touch her, just like the untouchable hope she refused to harbor for a future.

"Either way," Donna whispered. "It ends."

She rose on her tiptoes and placed her brow against his cheek, relishing his understanding for one extra moment. She eventually turned away, leaving J.D. in her kitchen with half a plate of apple slices sprinkled in blood.

* * *

Donna woke the next morning at six, determined to go out with a bang. She had a full breakfast, stuffing herself despite barely being able to taste the food. She even mixed up a mimosa with champagne she'd acquired ages ago, probably at the wedding. She had planned to save it for a big event. Now was as good a time as any. She took a long bath, candles and bubbles included, but the process didn't have the same appeal as it once did. She pulled one of her best outfits out of her closet, accessories and matching shoes, but still ended up donning her brown coat from a few years ago. She'd worn it nearly to bits, some important event having happened when she wore it. So she believed. She wouldn't wait on J.D. He'd come when he was ready. Before leaving her apartment, she stared resolutely at her pillbox. She pocketed the thing on her way to the garage, exiting her flat sluggishly.

Her sluggish step turned almost jaunty after a quick stop at a lake outside the city. She'd flung the pillbox and all of its contents into the water.

"So long, psycho," she whispered to herself.

Donna drove for another forty five minutes northeast, pulling into the gravel drive she'd visited all too often within the last eight months. She thinks that's when things went from bad to worse. She stepped out of her car and walked along the path, passing stone after stone until she came upon the modest piece of granite where her grandfather rested.

_Wilfred Mott_

_1922-2010_

_Caring Father, Devoted Grandfather, Eternal Friend_

_Watch the stars, and see yourself running with them._

"Hey there, you," Donna said, placing some flowers atop the stone. "Sorry it's been a few days. Haven't been in the greatest shape."

She sat on the grass with her legs tucked under her, heedless of the dewy morning.

"Look what I brought you! The headlines!" She said, extracting the paper. "I'll do my best to read them dramatically, but no one tops you—"

"Does he like when you read to him?" J.D. asked.

Donna tilted her eyes over the front page. "He worked at a news stand. He loved reading the papers."

"I know. That's where I met him."

"You know my grandfather?"

"I knew him," he said, crossing to the other side of the stone. "This epitaph, it's perfect."

"Any relic of the dead is precious, if they were valued living."

"Charlotte Bronte?"

"Emily, but you were close."

"Normally I remember things like that," he said.

"And normally I don't, so what can you do?" she folded the paper and returned it to her bag.

"So," he said. "Shall we begin?"

"Here?" she said incredulously.

"It's as good a place as any."

"But you said this could take hours! What if it rains, or I get mugged, or… something?"

J.D. just stared at her.

"Fine. Like you said, it doesn't much matter. One way or the other, right?"

He avoided her eyes. "You should try to get comfortable," J.D. said, crossing to her side of the stone.

She scooted back from Wilfred's marker a few feet, propping herself against a standing headstone.

"Sorry mate," she mumbled.

"I don't think he'll mind," J.D. said, crouching beside her. "Okay, eyes closed—" He lifted his right palm and placed it fully on her head.

"I know the drill." She shut her eyes tightly and waited.

**Reviews always appreciated :)**


	4. Into the Void

**Shorter chapter, and you're probably going to hate me once you come to the end of it. *maniacal laugh, maniacal laugh* However, not as long a wait between chapters this time; so, my humble offering to you, readers of the net. Don't own; never will. BBC, Davies, Moffatt... yada yada.**

Donna was standing in a sphere, a big bubble of not-quite-clear plastic material. Glancing side to side she saw books. Millions of books. The shelves seemed to float, sliding diagonally, vertically, somersaulting into nothingness; they were constantly moving, no one work ever staying still. Like all of the stories were still being written. Like they shouldn't yet be read.

It was dim in this… void. It wasn't a room. It wasn't even a building. And it definitely wasn't any natural place on earth. Donna stepped forward in her sphere, further into the space, the protective bubble moving with her. It didn't rotate end over end, as a wheel might while rolling down hill. It instead spun about her, like _she_ was the axis, like she was in complete control. When she stepped the sphere began to glow, gold light stabbing the dim shelves as she quickly scanned the titles. There was no filing system here. She had noted that on her last excursion. History books were scattered amongst science texts, biographies mingled with books on animals. She reached for one of the books, a biography on Madame de Pompadour. It glowed fiercely, turning warm in her hands. Flipping through the pages, her mind worked faster than her eyes. She read the book, the _entire_ book, in seconds. She read it again, then attempted speech to test retention.

"Madame de Pompadour, Jeanne Antoinette Poisson, French, meaning 'fish', member of the Royal Court, mistress to King Louis XV, more commonly known as Reinette. Contemporary of Voltaire, singer, actress, multiple languages, excessive fascination with fireplaces… Wait."

She shut her eyes and concentrated, flipping pages in her mind, utilizing a memory that had suddenly become eidetic. "Fireplaces…" she said, moving her hands as if turning pages. She opened the book a third time, placing a thumb at the front and flipping the pages like a paper book cartoon, speed-reading for anything to do with fireplaces. Or clocks. Wait, clocks? Why clocks? Her head began to ache, but it was a dull ache, not a sharp pain. She read the book again. Fireplaces and clocks, mirrors crashing… yet nothing in the history book on Madame de Pompadour concerning the seemingly unconnected objects. But Donna could see it happening, _saw_ it happen.

She returned the book to an empty place on the shelf. It wizzed upwards, then shot over her head and landed in a stack near a doorway. Donna walked towards the door, the palpable darkness dissolving as her faint glow pressed against it. She tried the handle to no avail, biting her lower lip in agitation.

"It doesn't do wood," she mumbled to herself. Distancing herself slightly, she rammed the left side of her body into the door, stumbling through none the worse for wear. The sphere continued its odd rotation, unphased. She didn't know what she'd expected, but this wasn't it. There were more books, sure, but what caught her attention was the gigantic animal, suspended in some container in what she assumed was water. The container was larger than a building, as was the animal inside it. It moaned, as if in pain, a giant… fish that was swimming, no, floating in some sort of… gas? It wasn't water, and it wasn't a fish. It was a whale.

"Pompadour, Poisson, fish, whale…" she approached the container and raised a hand to its side. She was suddenly floating, onwards an upwards, until she reached the head of the beast. In its eyes she saw the brutality of captivity, resigned and hurt and desperate.

"You… you're beautiful." But she didn't feel anything more from it. This creature… it was like she hadn't met it yet, didn't know about it. She felt bewilderment and something else… _expectancy _was the only way to categorize it. She hadn't felt something so familiar in months. Or had she?

Donna turned away again, unable to grasp where or what or how or… _who_. She'd never made it this far before. She'd seen the shelves, seen the books, but every time the glow had turned hot, searing her skin and making her faint. Like a fever that attacked, a sentient sickness that struck when she merely reached toward the shelf on her first trip here. But this time was different. This time it would change. He had told her it would. Who… J.D., her friend. Her mate. He had said this would be different. Why?

Grabbing another book, she realized the barrier of her sphere had solidified around her. She tried to pull the book within, to open it without, but there was some force keeping it shut. It didn't seem special. It was a book about the American west, fictional from what she could see. But she sensed that same unfamiliarity with the book like she had felt with the whale. Like she could know, and would know, but still… didn't.

Discarding the stubborn volume, she tripped over a rather thick tome on ancient Italy. She was able to draw the book past the pseudo-plastic barrier. Donna opened the cover and suddenly the dull ache intensified. She shut her eyes and the pain receded, but she felt this was important. Like, _what she had come for_ important.

"Keep going," she heard a voice say.

"Wot?" she gaped, suddenly worried by the presence of another in the void. "Who… who's there?"

"Just keep going, Donna."

It wasn't echoing around her. It was as if the voice came from within her sphere, like someone was standing right there next to her. She opened the cover again, this time prepared for the burning sensation. Preparation didn't make it hurt any less.

She flipped through the first few chapters slowly. Not as slowly as she used to read, but not nearly as fast as the Madame's biography. The pain intensified and her eyes started to water. She missed words here and there, but she was filling in the holes from the page with her own knowledge. Knowledge she shouldn't possess. She halted briefly, recollecting her experience with the stock market; she knew the flower seasons at the gardens; she knew facts about animals at the zoo; she knew things about baking agents and static electricity and things that she hadn't known before he'd showed up…

She stared blankly at her shoes, wary of reading much further. She could read fast. She'd just done so with the previous biography. And this book was charged. It wasn't just warm in her hand; it was practically smoking. Most importantly, he'd said to keep going. So, do it fast; like ripping off band-aid.

Donna took a deep breath, her finger poised over a page marked 'chapter five', ready to flick through the thing in its entirety. It would take seconds, but there was something foreboding about that brief time… Time…

No more thinking. Just read.

And as she read, she burned. She screamed when she got to chapter seven, titled, _Vesuvius_. There were giants, and women in robes, knives and lava. There was a lever. But worst of all, there was a choice. And she made it, surrounded by smoke, ash and heat, steam pouring from her body as she collapsed to her knees. She'd made it through the book, but the images from the volcano, an oracle and the red… so much _red_.

"J.D.!" she screamed. "J.D.! He— help… help me," she rasped, her voice fading to nothing in the dryness, in the heat. Her gold shimmered on the edges of the red as she drifted in and out of consciousness. Sometimes she would wake in the void and other times she could feel wet grass. But one plane never crossed the other. She knew the grass was wet, but constantly felt the heat. Her body would physically steam in the void, the soft gold-turned-red streaming from her hair, her labored breath, her fingers and her feet. If the agony hadn't been overwhelming, she'd have fancied herself a dragon.

"J.D…" she tried again.

"Stay with me, Donna."

"J-J.D…D…Duh, Donna."

"No, you're almost there. You can do it. Come on," the voice coaxed.

"What am I doing?" she asked, convulsions overtaking her as she curled on her side.

"What you do best. Insulting me. Now come on. Duh…"

"Duh…" she squeaked. "Duh… dumbo."

"Yes! That's it. Keep going."

"Duh… dunce! Outer-space dunce," she shrieked, and her back arched, every nerve fiber burning, every neuron firing, iron-grip on the cover of the book on Italy.

"That's right. I know everything, and I just keep going. I ramble all the time. It's not really rambling, though, if it's relevant, which it always is, but sometimes people seem to think I keep talking for no reason, but I'm only providing context—"

"Doctor."

"Hmm?"

"Shut it."

"No, wait. What was that? What did you call me?!"

"Duh… Doctor. J.D., you're the Doctor."

At that admission, Donna Noble's heart stopped beating.

_***Gulps and braces for reaction* Reviews appreciated :)**_


	5. Back to Reality

_**I couldn't leave yall hanging like that for too long. So here's the next little bit. Belongs to Davies, Moffat, BBC. Enjoy :)  
**_

She was aware of pain. And it wasn't a localized pain; it was radiating, from her gut to her fingernails. She felt it behind her eyelids down to the muscles in her calves, even in the tiny erect hairs on her forearms. Somewhere her brain made the connection that pain meant a responsive nervous system, and a responsive nervous system meant she was alive. She squinted, harsh light hitting her pupils as she twisted her head sideways.

Soft. And dry. Definitely not grass. She remembered passing out in the grass, in front of her grandfather. Her hair was sticky on her forehead. She felt gross and groggy, and raised her arm to wipe away the sweat. Met with resistance, she stared bewildered at the restraints holding her wrist to the hospital bed.

Hospital. That's where she was. The unforgiving light coupled with the itchy bedding should have tipped her off immediately. She'd been placed in a private room, several monitors and tubes running into various body crevices, an IV taped to the inside of her elbow. Replenishing fluids, a heart monitor… she listened to the imperfect beep, noticing an extremely irregular arrhythmia with every spike of the little green line. P, QRS, T. P, QRS, T… since when could she read an EKG?

"He… Hello?" she rasped. Her throat was scratchier than the gown she wore, which was really saying something. "Ehm… 'ello!"

She started pressing buttons on a control on her bed. The front of the bed elevated, and a television clicked on across the room. The pain in her body lessened, as if depressed by her external operations. After hitting several more buttons, another beeping noise joined the heart monitor; soon, a middle-aged woman in khaki scrubs walked in with a clipboard.

"Ms. Noble, you're awake."

Donna nodded weakly, holding back a sarcastic comment. "Can I… ehm… can I get some water?"

"Of course." The nurse extracted a bottle of water from the cabinet beside her bed. Donna reached for the bottle, straining against belts holding her down.

"Here, let me do that," the nurse said, leaning the remote control bed into a sitting position. She tipped the water bottle into Donna's mouth, and she drank greedily.

"What's all this about?" Donna asked, indicating the restraints.

"When they brought you in, you were convulsing rather violently. Even after sedation, you would kick and shudder. We, well… we had to drug you heavily."

"How long have I been here?"

The nurse glanced at the chart on end of her bed.

"Three days."

"Three days?! You've got to be kidding me." Her temper flared and her pain decreased again. Interesting reaction, Donna noted internally.

"Donna Noble, correct? Date of birth March 14, 19—"

"Yup that's me, we're good." Donna exhaled, and shut her eyes.

"Now that you're awake, I'll get the doctor to come in and explain the situation to you."

Donna twitched noticeably when the nurse spoke about the doctor.

"I'll, uhm, just go get him then," the nurse said warily.

"No need Pamela, I'm here. Hello Ms. Noble, I'm Dr. Barrett." Dr. Barrett took Donna's chart from Nurse Pam, and began flipping through the pages. Her medical file seemed just as large if not larger than her psychological profile with Dr. Kerry. She was sure a record of her sessions was in her recent medical history. She hated the pitying looks.

"Do, uhm, do you know what's happened to me? And could you possibly…"

"Yes, yes of course! Pam, if you'd get that side." Dr. Barrett moved to Donna's left and began loosening the belts holding her body in place, as well as the padded cuffs on her wrists. "You see Ms. Noble, you pose a bit of a problem for me."

"Why? Wot's wrong?"

"Well, that's just it. I can't seem to find anything _wrong_ at all. It's just all rather remarkable. Your blood work did show high levels of Trazodone."

"I'm on antidepressants. And sleeping meds. Let's skip that part. Those weren't what caused the convulsions."

"We can't rule anything out yet," Dr. Barrett said, authoritative.

"I know it's not the drugs. I've recently altered the regimen, but that wouldn't cause an arrhythmia like that," Donna said, indicating the monitor. "In fact, that's an extremely unusual BPM pattern. Wait, that's… that's not just irregular, it's like, hyper tachycardia! Why is my heart beating so quickly?"

"We'd love to know the answer to that as well, Ms. Noble. In the time you've been here, we've performed a CAT scan, a full-body MRI, and we've taken numerous blood samples. You were admitted Wednesday afternoon around three. A man found you in a graveyard, unconscious. Do you remember going there?"

Donna thought back to Wednesday morning. She remembered a bath and an omelet for breakfast, driving her car to a lake and throwing something away. Her Gramps was there. No, she went to see him. At the graveyard… because he was dead now. She was going to meet someone there, someone important, someone that would change everything. But who was it?

"I drove out to my grandfather's grave. He passed a few months ago."

"You're lucky someone called it in. You seemed to be seizing, but there's no history of epilepsy in your background or your family's. Have you ever had an undocumented seizure?"

"I've passed out, but I don't remember convulsing."

"The odd part is, besides the abnormal heart rhythm, there's nothing technically _wrong_ with you. Your heartbeat has maintained this pace since your admittance, but it's caused no adverse symptoms. You've been breathing regularly, without oxygen. All of your vital signs are stable, but your blood work produced some enigmatic results. We had to draw more and send it off to the city to be tested."

"Why the city?"

"We'd never seen anything like it before. We don't have the equipment to test the specimen."

"Was my red count low? Like an anemia thing? That would explain the passing out," Donna offered.

"Do you have a background in medicine, Ms. Noble?" Dr. Barrett asked suspiciously.

"No… I just— um," _suddenly know everything about the human body_. "I read a lot."

"I see. What troubles me is that there was something... additional, in your blood. It was on such a microscopic level we were unable to analyze it here, but it seemed as though there was a supplementary type of cell. A… mutation of sorts. I don't want to worry you, but if the results in London shine any light on your blood on the DNA level, you may be in for some rigorous medical testing in the future."

"But I feel alright now!" Donna protested. "You just said there was nothing technically wrong with me, so what if I wanted to check myself out now?" She was suddenly very frustrated. She was tired, yes, but she wasn't about to become a lab monkey, poked and prodded.

"I really wish you'd stay one more night, just to make sure you maintain your consciousness and there's not a sudden change in your vitals. If you don't want to have any more tests performed that is perfectly within your rights, but you'll always risk the chance of something like this happening again."

Donna considered her position. She wanted to know what was wrong, but if it were something unique, she'd rather not be made a national example for some new disease named after her. Figures, the one decent thing she contributes to society would be something that had the potential to kill. Her life was a perpetual catch-22. But she needed to know what was wrong. She remembered disposing of her antidepressants, and she didn't want to have to go back to that. If the problem was pure physiology, she might could figure it out herself. Maybe if she could get her hands on those test results…

"I'll stay the night, but I'd like to leave as soon as possible if everything checks out in the morning. And Dr. Barrett, I was wondering if I could get a copy of those tests, the MRI, the CAT scan. I'd just like to have a look for myself."

"Because you like to read?" he replied incredulously.

"Sure."

"Right then," Dr. Barrett said, turning his attention to Pam. "Find a copy at the nurses' station in her file and let her have a look. She can also have her personal effects now."

"Oh, can I get my phone?" Donna asked. "I should probably call my mum."

"She's been here for the past two days," Pam said. "She's just popped out to buy some magazines, said you'd be dead for entertainment when you came to."

"My mum was here?" Donna asked disbelievingly.

"On and off, yes. She'll be so happy to see you're awake." Pam exited the room and Donna reclined her bed backward a bit. Her mum had come. Even with all the avoidance, she'd still shown up. She'd probably get a smart talking to when Sylvia walked in about pulling this stunt again, but she didn't care. At least she still came.

"Here's a copy of those tests, and your personal effects," Pam said, handing Donna two darkly laminated sheets with internal organs printed on them.

Donna laid them aside for the time being to go through all of her things. She dumped the contents of the small paper bag unceremoniously in her lap. She found her keys, her wallet, two sticks of gum. Her cell phone had two missed calls from her mum and one from Dr. Kerry's office. She'd missed her appointment with him. Oh well, she'd gotten scanned anyway.

Amid the covers she noticed the silver glint of a chain, a long necklace with an antique pocket watch latched to it. On its exterior was an engraved cursive script 'D', overlaid with intricate circular designs. She'd never seen the piece before, and certainly didn't have it on her while she was at the graveyard. So how did it get into her personal things? She ran a fingernail warily underneath the lip of the watch, then pressed a small latch on its side. The timepiece would not open. She pried more harshly with her nails, and even went so far as to bang it on the rail of her bed. No such luck. Despite not being able to open it, she gathered her admittedly gross hair off the back of her neck and hooked the chain around it. The watch fell into the depths of her gown; she suddenly felt much more secure than she had in the past few months. She put the other items aside, not wanting to explain to her mother how she could suddenly read MRI scans as well as any medical doctor. With the watch now securely around her neck, Donna made another mental note that all the pain she had initially felt upon her waking had disappeared, leaving an immensely confused yet very much alive Donna Noble.

* * *

"And you're sure you don't want to stay at the house, not even for a night?" Sylvia queried, standing in the parking lot of the hospital just east of London.

"No mum, really, I'm fine. I've already made an appointment at St. Benedict's for tomorrow. If I stay over tonight, I won't want to get up first thing and drive to the other side of the city."

"I thought you said you weren't going to the research hospitals."

"I changed my mind," Donna lied. No, she was _not_ going to any such hospital, blood results be damned, but Sylvia had insisted. Besides, she had all the material and knowledge she needed to make her own diagnosis, which, if she was being completely honest with herself, gave her one of the biggest thrills she'd experienced in months. She felt the rush of endorphins, triggering excitement. Endorphins, types, alpha, beta, gamma, sigma… Due to her recent prolonged state of pain, the release of beta endorphins would have been the most prominent of endorphins released, yet her mind kept churning over sigma… something odd about sigma.

"Donna? Donna! I said, what time is your appointment?" Sylvia broke her reverie.

"Uh… Eight. First thing. In case tests took… a long time. Right, eight in the morning."

Syliva nodded, strangely silent. She'd been conciliatory with Donna, an interesting shift in the admittedly hostile mother/daughter paradigm Donna had lived with since birth. But since the haze began, Sylvia had been, if not nicer, then at least less confrontational. It didn't stop her from asking Donna the questions she never wanted to answer.

"I spoke with the doctors, Donna. Why didn't you take your antidepressants the morning you passed out?"

"Trazodone is an antidepressant, but sometimes it's prescribed as a sleep aid."

Sylvia Noble eyed her daughter questioningly.

"Or so I've been told," Donna said… She was going to have to be more careful about the way she phrased things. People would start asking her how she knew all of this information, and she wouldn't be able to give them a straight answer.

"I was trying to be responsible. I knew I was going to be driving, and I didn't want to be on the road to see Gramps after I had taken medication. You know, 'do not operate heavy machinery.'"

"I understand," Sylvia said. "But you're alright, aren't you Donna? You haven't been having any more weird dreams, have you? The ehm, hallucinations?"

Donna suddenly went blank. She tried to recall the episodes, what happened… but more importantly, who was there. She felt something big was missing. She knew she had had hallucinations, but during her drugged-induced stupor, and even during the 24-hour monitoring period at the country hospital, she had slept peacefully. No weird dreams. No fitful nights. Everything just seemed… contained.

"Actually mum, I think I'm feeling better now than I have in ages." Donna smiled a genuine smile, sincere and grateful. "I won't promise I'll be back to m' old self, like I was before the… well, the incident, or episode, or whatever you want to call it. But I feel good. Like something's finally clicked into place. Thank you for being so understanding. I know it's been hard, with Gramps gone, and I know we never really got on, but I just wanted to say thank you. I think it needs to be said."

Sylvia Noble, hard-headed loud-mouthed woman she was, teared at her daughter's speech. She hastily squared her shoulders and leant to give Donna a hug.

"It's wonderful to hear that, Donna. I agree, we never did much get on, but you're my daughter, and I think you're the most important woman in the universe."

"That's being a bit dramatic, don't you think?" Donna joked. A joke, a real, proper, joke.

"Me? Dramatic? Never!" Sylvia climbed into the driver's seat of her motor and waved goodbye to Donna as she started the journey back to Chiswick.

With her own medical results in hand, Donna sped down the motorway, anxious to get back to her apartment to start research. She had a project, a more positive feeling. Renewed by a stubborn determination, Donna allowed herself to hope.

_**If anyone watches the US Office, I threw 'Nurse Pam' in there because Tate's character made friends with her this season. Don't know why I'm explaining that name choice... Anywho, reviews appreciated.**_


	6. A Fern, A Scientist, and a Time Machine

_**So, I'm kinda excited about this chapter. To speak plainly, stuff goes down. Like, lots of stuff, which is why it's kinda long. That's why I couldn't wait to post it, even though I just updated a day ago. I think yall will forgive me for it though; even if I don't own it. BBC, Davies, Moffat, we all bow to your greatness. Enjoy :)**_

She didn't allow herself to hope too much longer, for it seemed that all of Nature was poised to attack her little blue hatchback. Trees fell across the road; bushes seemed to uproot themselves dangling clods of wet earth as the possessed shrubs launched themselves at her car. Rain poured as she turned on her wipers, but they did little against the thick layer of muddy goo blocking her view from the open road.

Donna nearly panicked, skidding once off-road when she hit a particularly nasty pothole. Avoiding a large truck, she steered by something more than sight. Call it, enhanced sensory perception. Deductions: there was no wind. Trees could not fall spontaneously without wind or another force to blow them over, unless decay had properly rotted the interior into falling. But multiple trees falling at the same time… the odds were astronomical. Mud could be flung, but could not fling itself. The same could be said for shrubs. Her brain was running ninety to nothing, postulating theories while driving and attempting to avoid further natural interference. Four elements, she thought. Opposite of fire is water; opposite of earth, air. If she increased her velocity, pressure exerted by windflow and resistance would necessarily create wear and erosive effects, causing difficulty of attachment by leaves, dirt, and whatever else wanted to stick itself to her car… While her brain finished explaining her foot hit the floor, speed increasing to Formula One car heights.

She sped through the Greater London area, zigzagging past other drivers who were having their own difficulties avoiding enraged shrubberies. Most people were pulling over to let it pass, whatever _it_ was. Rain came down in torrents, but the lack of wind and absence of cumulonimbus clouds suggested a root cause other than mere atmospheric instability. Heh… _root _cause. Another proper joke. Despite the panic she wistfully desired someone was there to laugh, even if it was for a poor pun.

The further into the city proper she travelled, the less nature there was to attack her. Fallen leaves still swooshed, but trees behind high stonewalls couldn't very well fall in her path. She hastily drove into her own neighborhood, avoiding the park she bypassed the other night while shopping for groceries.

Donna grabbed her belongings and dashed into her flat's lobby. Bolting into the stairwell, she barely escaped the lash of the corner fern, placed there after the building was redecorated last month. Taking the stairs two at a time, she finally reached her apartment. She burst through the unlocked door, and hastily did up the chain and dead bolt. She collapsed, adrenaline pumping, face flushed, and astonishingly… happy. She couldn't stop smiling. Something about the uncertainty, the flight… it all made sense to her. Like this was what she should be doing with her life.

Chancing a glance out the large window, the world carried on as usual. No overly aggressive daffodils, few ferocious fir trees, and no goopy earth attempting to drag innocents into the ground. A disturbingly calm city lay before her; only the odd motorists scratching their heads over the excessive branches on the streets. But the nature offensive was no fluke. She couldn't hide in her apartment forever, but she needed a plan before she went outside again. For now, she was far more preoccupied with her medical scans. Donna marched over to the computer and booted up, opening a search engine and typing 'homemade centrifuge' before setting to work.

* * *

Donna had never considered herself a particularly crafty person. Resourceful, yes. Crafty, not so much. But, she borrowed a power drill from the maintenance man, completely dismantled her DVD player for scrap parts, and somehow turned her gas stove into a Bunsen burner. Needless to say, Donna had transfigured her kitchen into a laboratory, and began writing theories on the front of her refrigerator with a dry erase marker. She even played some music, humming along whenever 'She Blinded Me with Science' shuffled onto the playlist.

Using her amateur diagnosis, she had confirmed that she had not suffered a seizure or a stroke, but a cardiac event was not necessarily out of the question. She had monitored her own heart rate since beginning her experiment mid-morning, and it was now coming on half six. It was elevated, and the heart muscle from the scans seemed swollen, almost engorged. However, there was no undue pressure on the muscle itself. She didn't feel faint, so blood was going where it needed to go. Even after her brief sprint up the stairs today, she didn't feel any more winded than usual. She had felt exhilarated. Like she could keep going. She could find no other explanation for her condition other than some event had caused her body, specifically, her heart, to change into something like a runner might have, or a really fit teenager. She did not exclude her brain, either; taking careful note that self-diagnosis had never been possible prior to today.

She paused in her musings. Nothing felt possible prior to today. Today felt even more than possible. It felt Certain.

Shifting her focus, she looked at her makeshift cell slides. She'd boosted the rotational output of an electric drill with components from a DVD player, a mixing bowl, and a cleverly placed stapler to run a blood sample through a separating centrifuge. She liked to think her office supply hoarding from her temp days had paid off for something. Separating blood components was not easy, but she'd created a serum separating tube which allowed her to collect both the serum and clotted cells. The only problem was analysis.

Donna had certainly done things she wasn't proud of. But one of her lowest days was sneaking two floors down and breaking into the Darington's apartment. For such posh people, they were surprisingly nice. Their daughter, Abigail, was quiet and reserved, but extremely interested in science. Upon entering Abigail's room, she had to stop herself from taking more than she needed, because there were fun looking instruments all over the place. The iguana cage put her off a bit, but resting on the same desk was a microscope. The piece wasn't particularly sophisticated, but it had a compound high resolution set up which meant she could analyze the samples. She put a couple hundred pounds on the desk and left the girl a note:

_Dear Abigail,_

_ I'm sorry, but I really needed to borrow your microscope. Here's a little something to get you a new one. Also, get a lab coat. Lab coats are cool._

_ Anonymous Friend_

Guilt. She definitely felt guilt stealing from a kid. Especially when the analysis of her blood cells produced more questions than answers. Her red and white cells she recognized immediately; she honed her attention on the new cells, emitting a sort of yellowish color from the nucleus outward. Ruling out basophils and eosinophils, she could only agree with Dr. Barrett. These cells were mutations, mutations that completely and rapidly changed. Donna knew red blood cell production took approximately four days (although how she knew she wasn't sure), but the cells were reproducing and separating _on the slide_. In mere seconds, they would multiply and stabilize, until Donna prodded them again, in which they would immediately start a regenerative process. But during its homeostatic period, it remained, not exactly glowing, but certainly more pronounced than the leukocytes and erythrocytes. Regenerative processes on the cellular level were documented in some cases for mammals. Even early reports in the 30s of humans regenerating the tips of their fingers. But the blood cells? There were trillions of them, so of course they had to reproduce rapidly. She needed tissue from one of her organs to test. Liver tissues regenerate, but mammalian cardiomyocytes cannot divide… She needed to get a tissue sample of her heart. And she was not looking forward to that.

Using her stove-top-turned-Bunsen-burner to boil some water, she fixed herself a cup of tea and retreated to her bedroom, MRI and CAT scan in hand.

"What's going on in there?" she asked herself.

Tossing the scans aside, she downed the rest of her tea in a massive gulp and fell back heavily on her duvet. Happy for the productivity, Donna dozed off quickly.

* * *

Donna's previous dreams of fire and snow and danger and death long forgotten, her subconscious decided to supply her with an exceptionally domestic scene. Well, aside from all the blinky lights and levers and switches and _what the hell was that thing_ bobbing up and down in the middle of this circular room? She traversed the coral-covered space slowly, a recognizable feeling pushing her forwards. She had two cups of tea in her hands. Why?

Donna peered around the giant circular console… was it a console? Well, it would be a proper consol if the tribophysical waveform macro kinetic extrapolator had not been installed upside-down. Who the hell was running this thing?

Upon that question she came across a man in a rumpled suit, slumped in a suspended seat in front of the console, head in his hands.

"Here you go," she said, extending the tea.

The man's head shot up.

"Donna?!"

"Yes?"

"What are you _doing_ here?" he asked emphatically, jumping from the seat quickly and racing towards her.

"Oi! Watch it," she said, nearly spilling the piping hot liquid down her front.

"Put those down and come over here! Are you in any pain?" he asked, pulling out a sonic screwdriver… well, it would be a sonic screwdriver if he added some damper settings. He whizzed the instrument about her body, rambling all the while.

"How are you here again?! Did something happen? I'm on the complete other side of the universe, lightyears away from the Medusa Cascade! I was about to launch myself into a meteor shower, you know, shake things up a bit. Didn't want to go all broody, you always hated that—"

"Hey, stop bleeping me and take this tea," Donna said calmly. "I got here with it so it must be important."

The man looked at her quizzically, pocketing his screwdriver and taking one of the mugs.

"Cheers," Donna said, sipping at her mug.

"Cheers."

The man stood speechless, which Donna believed was not what normally happened. She was being rather quiet, too. She reasoned that she must be dreaming, as people tend to act noncharacteristically when dipped into a subconscious state, plus the technology in this machine was way too advanced for the 21st century, which made her wonder how she knew about post-21st century tech— No, back to this man. He kept staring. It was making her uncomfortable.

"You know you've installed your kinetic extrapolator incorrectly. It's upside down."

He continued staring.

"Donna, I've missed you so much."

Donna took a step back. Was he _crying_? She felt uncomfortable, yet surprisingly relaxed. He wasn't dangerous, something was just wrong with him. She was clever; maybe she could help.

"Your sonic could do with some damper settings, too. I can show you, if you'd like," she offered, extending her hand for the device.

Instead of offering her the screwdriver, he took her hand in his, gently. She looked at their conjoined hands, brow furrowed, because that was definitely important. And when she looked up, he was definitely crying.

"Oh, bless," she said, and pulled him closer. She wrapped him in a hug that felt so natural, she was sure it'd happened a million times prior. "Now, now, it can't be as bad as all that. Chin up, you." He pulled her tighter and buried his head in her shoulder.

"I'm so sorry," he whispered.

"What for? Can I help sort it?"

He pulled back but wouldn't let her go, eyes fixed on her own.

"I…" Donna started, suddenly confused. She had felt so at home in the unfamiliar place, but this man, his face rendered her… puzzled. "I don't know if I know you," she started. The man's expression fell, something worse than defeat written on his thin features. "But all the same," she said, tilting his chin upwards. "I feel like I need to help you. That I'm supposed to be here, with you, in this… TARDIS? Time and Relative Dimension in Space. That's what this is, right?" She looked all over, but he wouldn't even turn his head from her. She noticed her tea mug, resting on the console edge.

"Up, better move this, no food or drink on the console," she said lightly. She made a move for it, but he held her in place.

"Will you _forget_ about the tea?" he said.

"Never met a bloke who didn't like tea before. What did it ever do to you?" she said, suddenly defensive. She _liked_ tea, after all.

"You don't know who I am?" he asked.

"No, but I know I should. That counts for something, doesn't it?" She finally broke away, placing the mug on the ground near that… jump seat. That's what it was. "But I know your house rules. Was I ever here before? Feels like I was."

"What do you see when you look at me?"

"A horrible excuse for a suit. Do you even own an iron?"

"Seriously? We've been through this!"

"Have we?"

"Yes! I told you, I don't… No, forget that. What else do you see? Or, the real question," he said, crossing to her again. He just wouldn't stay away. "What don't you see?"

He stood straight, not two feet from her. She took one sweeping view, from the sneaker-clad feet to pointy, unruly hair.

"I don't see a human. You look like one, but you're not."

He nodded.

"I don't see a name. You have one, but you don't use it."

"Correct."

"I don't see solitude. There's usually someone else, with you, here."

"Is there anything else?"

She assumed his penetrating stare; the realization of _what was not there_ hitting her.

"I don't see me," she said quietly. "In your eyes. I don't see myself reflected back. It's you. You're in your own eyes."

He slumped down on the jump seat, pulling her to him.

"Funny," she said, taking his right hand. "Something about this hand." She clasped her fingers in between his. "It fits so well."

"You have no idea."

He reached with his other hand toward her head and she flinched, spooked like a horse.

"I'd rather you not touch my head, if that's alright," Donna said warily.

The man looked hurt, but bobbed his head quickly.

"Will you look at me then? Really look in my eyes?" he requested.

She did so, for a moment. One brief, shining moment, and she could see the gold. A golden power; she was pretty sure it was the universe.

"What do you see?" she asked. "Reciprocity, buddy. What do you see?"

"I saw you. I didn't see myself, like it should be."

"Is that how it's supposed to be? No reflection?"

"I honestly don't know."

They stayed together in the console room, holding hands in a loaded silence.

"Did I love you?" she asked, genuinely inquisitive.

He looked shocked, then contemplative, then regretful. "I honestly don't know."

"I feel like I did. Not like I've loved other people, but I'm pretty sure I would have died for you."

"You did."

"Guess that makes this a pretty special dream, then?" Donna said.

"Dream?"

"Oh, I'm sorry. Shouldn't have ruined the moment. Yeah, I'm definitely dreaming."

"How do you know that?" he said, voice rising.

"Well, the last thing I remember was falling asleep, and my heartbeat and breathing patterns have remained slow yet steady despite the conversation and movement. In addition, I'm acting out of character. I tend to be a little more… let's call it assertive, when I'm awake. At least, I think I do. I've had a rough couple of months."

"Oh, Donna, I'm sorry."

"Don't say that. I don't like it when you say that. It makes me think something bad is going to happen."

"If you're dreaming, then how are you here?"

"It's a dream, I'm not really."

"No," he argued. "This is real, I am real," he countered, pulling her hands to his chest. She felt four familiar thuds but still… nothing.

"Of course it would feel real to you if I'm dreaming it. I'd like to think I dream with conviction."

"For the sake of argument then. What if I was real? What if this place was real? How would you, theoretically, end up here?"

"It's. A. Dream."

"Howwouldyoutheoreticallyin-a-dreamenduphere?!" he asked manically. He tensely grabbed his hair and began pacing.

"There are a number of ways," she said simply.

"There are?!"

"Of course. I only just thought of them now, but the possibilities are endless. The most _probable_, however, judging by our lingering familiarity, my dream state (because I _know_ I'm dreaming, don't argue with me), and my recent analysis conducted on my own physiological changes… I'm going with telepathic link."

"Wot?" he said, face disbelieving. "That's, but that's… completely possible."

She gave him her best 'duh' face, thinking he probably deserved those daily.

"Think about it," she continued. "If I look at you, and see you in the reflection of your own eyes, and vice versa when you look into mine, it's like we _are_ each other," she said, waving a hand between their bodies. "Not in a, 'I am you and you are me, and look at all the things we'll be' kinda way. But a, 'I'm in your head and you're in mine.' I'm only here on a telepathic plane, but you can see me because, you know… we seem to be connected. Looks like there will always be a little bit of me with you," she said, playfully knocking his head. "… no matter when or where you go."

The TARDIS suddenly jostled, but only Donna lost her footing.

"We hit that meteor shower yet?" Donna asked.

"What? No, it doesn't start for another hour. How did you fall?"

"Um, your ship just threw me to the floor, why not ask her?"

"The TARDIS didn't move, Donna."

"I beg to differ— you."

"Do you even know my name?"

Donna slid again but the man kept his position. Her shoulder was moving back and forth, as if someone was trying to… jostle her into coherence.

"I think someone's trying to wake me up."

"Donna!" he said, running to her. "What's my name?"

"I told you, you don't have one."

"No, what do they call me? What do _you_ call me?"

"Ow." Someone somewhere else had just hit her arm. Hard. They were definitely trying to wake her.

"I… um. I'm really sorry, but I don't know."

"But you remember ALL of this!" he shouted, gesturing toward the ship. "How did you know the extrapolator was in upside down?! How did you know I wasn't human? Donna, why can't you remember my name?!"

"I'm sorry…" Donna said, suddenly groggy. "I knew it once, but I can't stay here."

"No! Don't leave!" the man said.

Donna could barely see her own arms fading before her, the industrial light in the console room fading to the darkness behind her eyelids. The echo of the man's voice knocked about in her head. He said 'don't leave… don't leave me.' Who was he?

* * *

"Noble! Noble! They're coming," a voice said.

It was still dark, but she was definitely in her bed. And there was definitely something calling her name.

"What? What's happening?"

She opened her eyes to a squat little figure in blue and silver armor, with a head that looked like the bottom of a tanned giant's big toe.

"What the— who the hell are you and _what_ are you doing in my bedroom?!" she yelled.

"Ah, I was told to expect this. Good to know you're a fighter, weak human. My name is Strix, Captain of the 19th ground Sontaran division, special operations task force. Now, up you get, and grab your armor. We're under attack."

"Why should I go with you?" Donna asked, infuriated. "You look like some overgrown potato with a mouth, not to mention you woke me up in the middle of the—"

The force of the blast knocked them both to the ground. Donna's bedroom window had shattered completely, shards of glass littering her carpet as she scrambled for cover on the floor. Strix took a defensive position on the other side of the bed.

"You. Dressed. Now. Unless you'd like to stay here and see what made your window go boom."

Donna thought a moment. "Nope, I'm good. Lemme get shoes. I still don't know what you are!"

Wait, yes she did. Sontarans, home planet Sontar, finest soldiers in the galaxy. Overly proud, but one knock to the probic vent… Well, if she needed to get away, she knew how.

"All set then?" Strix asked.

"Guess so. What's going on?"

"Attack, like I said. Grab whatever you might need, because we're not coming back."

Thankfully, she had fallen asleep in her clothes, so all she needed was her brown coat.

"Do you have the watch?" Strix asked.

Donna reached for the chain at her neck.

"How did you know?"

"I gave it to you, now come on!" he shouted, kicking her front door clean off its hinges and against the opposite wall. "Onwards and upwards."

"I could have just unlocked the thing," she grumbled, and raced after him into the dark.

_**SO?! Too much? Too little? Are you thoroughly confused/infuriated yet? A quick shout out/thanks to J. Ashmore and dm1 for multiple reviews. It warms my little ole' writer's heart :D**_


	7. A Reluctant Damsel

**Yay for _ALL THE FEEDBACKS! _*punches fist into air excitedly* Glad yall liked the previous chapter; also, I'm glad to keep people on their metaphorical reading toes. Continuing on with the story... that is owned by the BBC, Moffat, Davies... Enjoy :D**

"Why are we going up?" Donna asked Strix, able to keep up with the soldier due to his short stride and massive weaponry hindering a stairwell ascent.

"Because they would _expect_ us to be going down, insolent boy."

"Oi! I am not a boy!"

"I don't care if you're a dog, my mission is to keep you away from the Snatchers, not to call you a proper name. Now, forward!"

The pair burst onto the roof of her building, the London night air harsh and chilly.

"What are snatchers, who are you again, and why do you have a mission concerning me?"

"I'm not at liberty to discuss the mission; I owe a friend a favor. But I'm supposed to tell you this—"

Before he could say anything else, Strix had knocked Donna to the ground and covered her body with his, just as a blast shot gravel and shrapnel in every direction, toppling over the side of her building.

"We need to get out of here, we'll talk later."

Donna scanned her surroundings, unable to find a proper means of escape. They were sitting ducks for whoever these Snatchers were, and Donna did NOT appreciate this little bloke's tone, even if he was preprogrammed to be insensitive and aggressive.

"Strix!" Donna yelled, as the Sontaran blasted the door knob of the roof exit with a flame thrower.

"Busy!"

"Oh, I see, melting the metal of the door to create a more substantial barrier while simultaneously strengthening our defensive position. Class!"

He attached two black devices to the sides of the door and returned to Donna.

"I might can break into the circuit systems and rewire something to produce and electrical current," Donna started, crossing to the roof-top shed where the back-up electrical mainframe was housed. "I don't know if I can get anything to _shoot_ volts of electricity, but hey, here's for ingenuity!"

"Noble, we will be long gone before your circuitry maneuver is complete."

"And how is that? Because if you haven't noticed, Potatohead, I conveniently left my parachute in my OTHER APARTMENT!" Donna yelled into the Sontaran's face as a helicopter hurtled by the building.

"Not another group!" Strix said.

"There's more than one!?"

"Take cover!"

The two ducked behind the auxiliary shed as the helicopter made another pass and opened fire. Tiny objects whizzed past Donna's head, but the 'ping' they made on the surface of the roof registered an incorrect tone for metal bullets. Risking exposure, Donna thrust a hand out to grab one of the things the helicopter was shooting and pocketed it as Strix rummaged through his weaponry.

"Here it is! Never thought I'd say a retreat device should be placed on the top of the pile, but oh well…"

"Is that a vortex manipulator?" Donna asked.

"Yes," Strix said, strapping the piece to her arm. "Now shut up, and we're out of here!"

Strix pressed one of the controls and Donna found herself in an empty warehouse. At least, she assumed it was a warehouse, considering its size, industrial lighting, stable yet cheap construction materials.

"We're not there yet," Strix said. "Onwards!"

He ushered her through the abandoned building, finally reaching a patch of open floor that looked much like every other part of the floor in the building. He kneeled and crossed his right fist over his chest, then placed his three-fingered left-hand into a series of holes Donna had only just noticed.

The floor separated instantly, a crack forming as a panel a few feet in length slid under the primary floor, leading to a staircase.

"Alright, Noble—"

"Yeah, yeah, I know. Onwards!"

Donna and Strix trotted down the stairs as the panel closed above them. Lights covered in red film made the place look an awful lot like what Donna imagined hell might look like, but there was a significant lack of sulfuric scent. They entered a large room, lit more properly than the hallways, sparsely decorated, unless you counted the electronic war boards on every wall, the tables full of blueprints and maps, as well as a kiosk with weaponry that human minds would not contemplate for at least another 700 years.

Despite the expansive space, Donna and Strix were the only ones in the underground hideout.

"This wouldn't be for any future invasions of the planet, would it?" Donna asked.

"That's… I mean to say, eh hem… we… yes, well, originally, that was what this place was designated for. But after an appeal by… let's just say an appeal was issued and the mission abandoned."

"Forever, I hope?"

Strix looked at her sadly. "Nothing lasts forever."

"Great. Because I'd like you to put an end to my utter confusion. What. Is. Happening?"

"For now, I'm supposed to advise you to wait until morning," he pulled a sheet of paper from the underside of his wrist armor. "Yes, you are instructed to wait, here, until morning. Precisely 6:48 a.m."

"Why 6:48 a.m.?"

"I am a soldier. I follow orders," Strix said. "I implore you to do the same."

"Once again, I'm still not getting the big picture. Of course, this wouldn't be the first time." _Or would it_? Despite her knowledge, her memories were still quite hazy…

"All I am supposed to say, is that I'm doing a favor for a friend. And that I," he raised his three fingers in the air to perform what Donna could only assume was air quotations: "_owe_ them one."

"If there was an award for vague answers, you'd definitely take the prize, potato man."

"Would you kindly stop referring to me as a potato? I would threaten you with my Kahrlstaz 4700, but I am also forbidden from," he eyed the paper again, "'inflicting any harm, bodily, psychologically, or emotionally.'"

"Can I see that paper?"

"And as soon as you ask that, I'm supposed to burn it. So, here it goes."

He threw the sheet into the air at his side and extracted his flame thrower like a trigger-happy cowboy in a shoot out, incinerating whatever instructions were written on it. Not to mention Donna's only hope of reasoning anything remotely sensible from this curious set of circumstances.

"Here," Strix said, handing her the vortex manipulator. "You will need this."

"How do you know that?"

"Like I said, I'm doing a favor for a friend. There are cots through the door to your left, if you would like to attempt sleep at this time. The entrance is secure, so you need not worry about any further disturbances. I will also be on guard until 6:48 a.m., but no longer. I will be missed and things might become more complicated after that point. Good night, Noble."

"Thank you, Strix," Donna managed, taking care to catalog every weapon he had on his body. _Just in case_. "I'm not sure what for yet, but thank you!" She retreated through the door to the left, pushing two Sontaran cots together to fit her taller frame.

Just as she lay down, convinced sleep was out of the question, she found herself back in that wonderful circular room, dreaming in the TARDIS while the sad-looking man ran frantically around the console, pressing buttons and pumping levers, punctuating the air with joyous cries of "Donna!"

* * *

"Well hello again," Donna said.

The man dashed over to her, gathering her up in a huge hug. Yes, Donna confirmed in her mind. This was certainly a telepathic link. He may be hugging her in his head, but a physical hug felt significantly different than the one she was currently experiencing.

"You came back much sooner than I thought you would!" he said, releasing her.

"I'm just glad I caught you in the correct time stream. Not that our last visit wasn't poignant, but I'm in a bit of a rush."

"What do you mean?"

"6:48."

"648 what?" he asked. "648 bananas?! 648 pies! 648 banana cream pies!"

"No. Not six-hundred and forty-eight. 6-48. Like the time. Although, if you're not careful, it'll be 648 ways my ghost will haunt you if you don't come help me this instant!"

"Wait, what? I don't understand."

"You and me both Sunshine, which, to be quite honest, is surprising, 'cause I'm understanding _loads_ of things nowadays."

"That is a subject I'd like to revisit, but preferably in person. Do you still not know who I am?"

"Oh, I know who you are," Donna said. "You're the bloke who keeps changing the subject when I'm trying to relay some particularly crucial information."

"Fine," the man said. "You're certainly sounding more like yourself, but what's so important that it trumps…" He waved a hand spastically between the two of them. "You know… trumps this!"

"Oh, how articulate you are. I've seriously got to reconsider my judgment in friends," she said to herself. "Look, my body is somewhere… I'm assuming somewhere in London. And I've got until 6:48 a.m. to get out of whatever 'somewhere' I am. I don't know why 6:48, but that's how long Strix gave me."

"Strix?"

"He's a Sontaran, rescued me from some Snatchers."

"Snatchers?"

"I don't know 'bout them either. Although they weren't near as bad as the attacking shrubbery."

"ATTACKING SHRUBBERIES?!"

"Don't get your knickers in a twist, everything's fine now."

"Apparently not, or you wouldn't be locked away in some as of yet undisclosed location."

"The best I can give you is it's a warehouse in the greater London area. I was transported from my flat via a short-wave vortex manipulator directly to the interior. Inside, there's a sort of underground bunker. It seems to be a Sontaran base. You could easily scan for that type of technology."

"Wait, why do I have to come find you? Didn't you just say you had a vortex manipulator?"

"And didn't _I_ just say that I was being chased by bushes and Snatchers and _who knows what else_?! The teleport is fully functioning, but as far as time transport goes, the thing is shot. Even if I got out of that warehouse, what's to stop all those things from coming after me again? As much as I hate waiting on a bloke, looks like you're gonna have to come rescue the damsel, Mr. Prince."

"More of a Lord, really," he said softly.

"Lord… hmmm. That's familiar," she mumbled, eyeing him cautiously. "No, not time for that just yet," she said, giving him a small smile. "We'll talk, we will… when you come get me. I think you've got about three hours."

"They'll be the longest three hours of my life," he said, teasingly.

"Oh, shut it you. And hurry up, before I get blown up or something."

* * *

Donna shot up in her bed, startled by the sound of rhythmic marching. She heard the automatic doors open and seal, closing off the one exit from the warehouse. She looked all over for a clock, and even went so far as to fumble down her blouse for that damned fob watch. She pried at its hunter case lid, but it remained tightly shut. She chanced a peek through the observation glass on the door, crouching a bit as it was manufactured for a Sontaran's height.

She didn't know what frightened her more: the fact that the clock on the opposite wall read 6:40, or the massive fleet of Sontarans moving about the control room with enough artillery to sustain a third world war.

"This is the domestic location of the target, Commander," one Sontaran said to another. "The coordinates have shifted, per the move eight months ago. There are four points of entry, here, here, and two service entrances via the basement and roof."

"Very good, Major. See to it that our special ops team is in position."

"Yes, sir."

6:42.

"We make a morning strike while the target is disoriented," the Commander said. "Our surveillance has shown that she is, to use the human vernacular, 'not a morning person'."

"Not many of us are," Donna mumbled.

Suddenly, the door she was crouching behind slid open to reveal Strix and four other Sontarans, strapping equipment to various parts of their bodies. Donna stood mutely as all eyes turned on her, the low rumble of spoken orders and shuffling preparations suddenly halted.

"Sir…" Strix said.

"Identify yourself!" The one known as the Commander yelled at Donna, aiming an imposing looking weapon somewhere between her torso and forehead. She was rather fond of the upper half of her body, so she thought it best to speak.

"Eh… Donna, Donna Noble. From Chiswick. You mind aiming that thing somewhere not in my vicinity?"

"Donna Noble, of Chiswick…" the commander said. "Donna Noble, in the Sontaran base…" the Commander suddenly broke into what Donna supposed was a smile. On Sontarans it looked like a facial expression somewhere between bemused and constipated.

"I was just— eh, that is… tell 'em Strix," Donna said, shifting her focus.

"Captain!" the Commander barked.

"Sir?" Strix asked.

"Why does the target address you so informally?"

Strix looked at Donna blankly. "I do not know, sir."

"What, yes you do!" Donna exclaimed. "You _brought _me here, potatohead!"

"Captain, did you defy direct orders and apprehend the target unaccompanied?"

"Sir, I did not bring her here," Strix said automatically.

"You sure you want to stick with that story? I'll bet with Sontaran technology, there are plenty of cameras that might just prove you wrong, you big toe with ears! If I'm not supposed to be here, it ain't my fault!" Donna yelled.

"Sir, the video feed for the past twelve hours has been scrambled."

"That would be the case…" Donna grit her teeth. "Right, well then, someone's clearly made a mistake, I've got a date in seconds, literally, so I'll just be on my way then." Donna made to move through the mass of Sontaran soldiers, but was buffered by a wave of hastily-drawn assault weapons.

"You, Donna Noble, are the very reason we've come. You will not be leaving, unless it is on a Sonataran ship."

"Alright, yes, well… once again, I reiterate that there's been a mix-up. I don't want anything to do with the Sontarans. Nothing special about me. And, haven't you got like, battles to fight, galaxies to conquer, preferably not in this… whole… area, here?" Donna managed, vaguely gesturing to, well, the Earth. "Earth's rather boring. Not a lot of energy at all. If you're looking for a wild ride, why not try out Blackmarc IX. Abandoned planet, radioactive isotopes that _grow_ in the rock, marvelous really." Donna was slowly backing into the sleeping quarters where she had been originally, thinking of ways she could hardwire the automatic door shut with just her know-how and three hair pins. But electronic seals wouldn't hold off flame-throwers for too long.

"Halt Donna Noble. Distractions are useless," the Commander said, approaching her threateningly.

"You think that a power signature like yours would go unnoticed? That the universe wouldn't jump at the chance to possess the energy you've accumulated so easily? No, Donna Noble. There will be plenty more species vying for you, but you've done us a favor…" the Commander waited, opening his arms to his forces. "And walked right into our base." The rest of the crew broke out into staccato laughter... even Strix. "I only regret that we were not granted the opportunity for a mission, or for possible battle with other operatives struggling to acquire you."

"Oh, I really prefer there not be a struggle." The man in his brown suit suddenly appeared beside Donna, taking her hand in his. "You see, all of you—" he said pointedly, waving his sonic screwdriver at the armed hoard, "have been looking for her. Apparently the whole universe has, including me. You might say I've always been looking for her."

He directed his attention to Donna.

"Flying shrubberies you say?"

She gave an affirmative shrug. "Eh."

"The difference, however, between you, shrubberies, the universe, and _me_, the complete difference between us…" he looked at Donna affectionately. "Is that she's been looking for me, too."

Upon that declaration, at 6:48 exactly, the Sontarans opened fire. The man in the brown suit pulled Donna sideways, narrowly escaping flames and laser beams and darts and bullets. The pair stumbled into a homey blue box and together they flipped a few levers, pressed a few buttons. Hurtling in the vortex of all time and space, they faced each other, properly, for the first time in years. And these two geniuses, these two mates, these two chatter-box world savers, didn't know what to say.

**Reviews heartily appreciated :)**


	8. Answering Questions, Questioning Answers

**BUMBUMBUUUUMMMM! Together, finally. Only took seven chapters; so, as a little reward, there's a lot going on. Again, if you've stuck with this story this long, I really appreciate it. I think I'll have the whole thing up by the end of February (or at least I'm saying that now which helps with the deadline I set for myself in the back of my head). Anywho, hope all is well. Don't own, never will, yada yada. ENJOY :D**

"I'm sor—"

"Thank y—"

"No, you first."

"Go ahead."

They grinned at each other, embarrassed, silly, like a couple of kids on a date. Except not like that, never… _ever_. Right?

"Alright, questions!" Donna exclaimed. "I've got 'em, so do you, how 'bout a cuppa in the library, yes? I want to say I always liked the library."

"You did… do." He shuffled closer to her, warily. "Do you ever change?" he asked seriously.

"I hope so," she replied. "C'mere."

A tight hug and a whistling kettle later, Donna and her brown-suited man sat in the library of the TARDIS, eager and apprehensive.

"How do you want to do this?" Donna asked.

"I've got loads of questions!"

"Me too."

"How 'bout we trade off, every other?" he said.

"Sounds good. Can I go first? Ladies privilege and all."

He raised an obliging hand.

"Who are you?" Donna asked sincerely.

The man looked taken aback. "I'm the Doctor," he said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

"No, what's your name?"

"The Doctor."

"That's not a proper name. What if I just went around saying, 'I'm the Professor.' Or 'I'm the Zookeeper.' Or, 'I'm the Nun.'"

"I seriously doubt anyone would mistake you for a n—"

His sentence was cut off by a light slap to the back of the head. "Where do you get off saying… Oh, oh no, I'm sorry." Donna said, suddenly shaken. "I didn't mean to do that. I mean, _I did_, but I don't know you. Usually I don't slap people I've just been introduced to."

"Yes you do."

"Only if they deserve it, which, by the way, you did," she said accusingly. "Alright, so… you're the Doctor. And you're an… alien. Yes. An alien named the Doctor. From the planet… Gallifrey."

"Yes. All correct. But now it's my turn. How do you know I'm from Gallifrey if you don't even know my name?"

Donna responded but didn't open her mouth. _It might have something to do with the fact that we can communicate telepathically. Any ideas Spaceman?_

"One, and I'd like to try it out if you don't mind," he said, leaning forward, completely intrigued.

"Alright, go ahead," Donna said. "I'm suddenly quite fond of experiments."

"Wow…" he breathed.

"Wow what?" she responded, confused. "You didn't even do anything."

"Yes, I did. _We_ did. Don't you hear it? The words we're saying? We're speaking Gallifreyan, Donna."

Donna opened her mouth to reply, suddenly self-conscious of the syllables tumbling over her tongue. The sounds seemed foreign to her articulators, but she could speak it, an alien language.

"I didn't even notice we'd stopped speaking English."

"Brilliant," he said simply.

"My turn again." Donna said, reverting back to English. The foreign language felt too intimate. She took a breath. This was the one she really wanted to know. "Who are you to me, and who am I to you? Why do I feel like I want to hug you, and slap you over the head, and yell at you and dance with you and push you off a cliff…"

"A cliff? Really?"

"What can you do?" Donna said playfully, sipping her tea. "No, in all seriousness. I get feelings of familiarity. I know things. Complex things that I shouldn't know. But all that complexity is covering up the simplest thing: my relationship with you. Not, like _that_," Donna said questioningly.

His face gave nothing away.

"Was it?" Donna asked, suddenly very nervous.

The Doctor averted his gaze and rubbed the back of his neck, struggling for words.

"You were my best friend. You lived with me, here, in the TARDIS, right down there, in fact! Third door from the left. NOT the second door, as you soon found out, because of what the hybrid monkeys from Lemrangtangon did to the room, what with the—"

"Doctor? Back to topic?"

"Ah, yes, sorry. We, um… we traveled together. Oh Donna, the places you saw… They were marvelous. And the things you did." Emotion made his voice shaky; rendered him almost teary-eyed and nearly tongue-twisted. "You were spectacular."

"But something happened, didn't it? What was it?"

"I think it's my turn now."

She nodded, though grudgingly. A deal was a deal.

"How are you still… What happened to… I didn't want…" He brought his hand back up to his face, shame and guilt rapidly overtaking his initial excitement. "Is this all another dream?"

"That's the question you want to stick with?"

"Yes. Because it's the one I need to know the most. Right now," he said, reaching for her hand.

She felt his pulse in his wrist, rapid drumming beats. She stretched her hand over his knuckles, entwining fingers and gently rubbing the back of his hand with her thumb.

"No, Doctor. This is not a dream." She smiled genuinely and gave him a nudge, just to assure him of her presence. "My turn again." At this she paused, trying to figure out which question she wanted to ask next. These were getting trickier.

"How do you explain a random mutation on the cellular level after… well, let's just say after a few decades of life?"

"Any particular specimen?" he queried.

"Me, duh."

"Cellular mutation you say? Obviously some catalyst rendered via environment or chemical enhancement stimulated change. How do you know it's a mutation?"

"Because I analyzed my blood, and it's not human."

"What?!" he exclaimed. "How do _you_ know that?"

"I know loads of stuff. Ask me anything! No, don't, that's not fair. I can just peek in your head."

"Not if I put up the mental barrier."

"Oh, yeah, that. How about that big one you've been keeping from me since I got on this ship? So what's behind it that you don't want me seeing?"

"Memories," he muttered, his hand migrating to the back of his neck. "I think you should know more before I take that barrier down."

She could sense that this stemmed from protection more than any desire to be secretive. She let it go. For now.

"Then would you mind explaining why people have been shooting tranquilizer darts and trying to 'snatch' me, as Strix put it?"

"Strix? Darts?" he grabbed the tiny, pellet-like object Donna had retrieved from her rooftop. No doubt, it was a tranquilizer. Though type and origin he couldn't yet determine. "I think we should stop with the questions we can't respond to and start seeking answers elsewhere. Would you mind accompanying me to the medical bay?" he asked, standing and heading for the door. "I want to take a tissue sample."

"Oooooh! Do you have an instrument to noninvasively extract cardiac tissue? Because that's where I think the primary mutation occurred!"

"Why heart tissue and not DNA? Or even the brain, what with your sudden revelation to most knowledge too advanced for human minds? Why that organ?"

She sprung off the couch and made her way out the open door. "My heart stopped a few days ago after I went into some sort of physical shock. But I already ruled out the antidepressants and sleeping pills, and I know it wasn't the sedative they used at the hospital. That's what the restraints were for." She looked left and he wasn't beside her. "What's wrong?"

The Doctor stood slack-jawed, hand grasping the wall for support. "Your… your heart stopped?"

"Yeah, but it's all good now, if you don't count the hyper tachycardia. Come on, medical bay, chop chop!"

"You were on medication…" a statement, not a question, one that hurt to say. His face was brokenly confused, as if he had witnessed a horrible accident, powerless to interfere.

"Sure. But no more. I'm all better now," she said, trying to remain chipper.

"And now you have a heart condition…" he croaked. "I did this. I hurt you," he said, balling his hands into fists.

"No… I'm sure it wasn't—"

"_I_. _Hurt_. _You_. I need to go… I've got to, to make it better, to sort… who did you say was after you? Snatchers? Shrubs… Sontarans? Why does everything start with S?" he was pacing madly, despair and self-hatred and the slightest bit of rage bubbling on the edges of his consciousness. It was seeping through to Donna via telepathy.

So, she pushed back with her own mind, now calmer than it had been in years.

_Hey, Spaceman?_

He looked up at her, an angry tear dribbling down his gaunt cheek.

_Do I look alright to you? Am I hurt?_

He shrugged.

_No. I'm fine. I'm just a bit confused. And I think you could help me get unconfused_.

She took his hand in hers and began leading him down the hallway toward the medical bay.

_You get to go all broody and beat yourself up when I deem it necessary, but until then, can we not just be happy we've got a mystery to solve? Partners in crime, you know?_

He nodded mutely and she pulled him into another hug. The watch round her neck felt heavy against the hollow of her chest. As he pressed against her, it practically vibrated with energy. She placed that little nugget of information behind her own mental barrier. She knew the watch played a part in this. But not now. Now, she wanted other answers. She could tell by his quaking frame that he did as well. She broke their hug and the pair disappeared into the depths of the TARDIS, excited and anxious for further questions and answers.

* * *

"So I was right then?" Donna asked, excitement evident. "It's a mutation, innit? Completely new!"

"That seems to be the case, yes," the Doctor said, staring at one of the monitors in the TARDIS's med bay. "I don't understand why this didn't happen originally," he muttered to himself.

Donna meanwhile, was taking in the wall of information in front of her. Arms crossed over her light blue medical gown, her eyes darted from the tissue sample to the DNA results and back to a sample of the Doctor's DNA. They had taken some human DNA from the Doctor's log (because, honestly, what type of scientist would he be if he didn't have a store of random species' DNA on his ship), and placed it in the souped up mass spectrometer from the 44th century. The results were marvelous. Human DNA, then Donna's DNA, then the Doctor's. All in a line on the monitors, as if staring at a basic evolutionary progression of a singular species.

"I'm part Time Lord!" she squealed. "You want to know what time humans landed on the moon in '69?"

"4:17:40 EDT."

"Well it's no fair if you know. Oi! We should fly back home and put me on one of 'em game shows! Big cash prize, here I come!"

"Donna, that's not fair."

"You're right. I've got loads of money, but maybe I could play for a charity or something."

"Donna, you can't use that knowledge. It'll throw everything off," the Doctor said. "Look, you… you're special. It's not fair for you to pit yourself against less developed minds."

"Watch it, I was one of those less developed minds not too long ago."

"Exactly! So what changed?" he asked, exasperation finally evident.

She sensed his tension; but this wasn't fair. She was affronted.

"Look, just because you're not the only special one floating around out here, doesn't mean you can belittle… whatever _this_ is!" she said, pointing to her head. "It's cool to finally have _something _happen to me!"

"But that's just it! Stuff does happen to you!"

"No, it doesn't. The lottery was a fluke. My whole life up until then was one screw up after another. I never… I never really _did_ anything. So excuse me for being happy to… I dunno. I'm happy I'm not that woman anymore."

"You keep saying nothing happened to you. That you've not done anything. What do you call people chasing you? Aliens abducting you? Telepathic links with me?"

"For a genius you can be super dim…" she sighed. "Look, none of that happened to me until a day or two ago, when I suddenly got super smart. I mean, I had been noticing things more, before then." Her brain was starting to go a bit hazy. She went into her own consciousness. She thought she could see shelves, but there was a curtain hanging over that part of her mind. The part where her memories were; at least, her most recent memories. "I mean, I think I did; know more stuff, that is. That's how I made investments."

"You played the stock market?"

"Don't look so shocked. Women can even vote now, you know."

"That's not… I didn't… Gah, I forgot how frustrating you were."

"Well, I can leave. I've got this," she said, pointing to the vortex manipulator. "So maybe I don't need you. I don't even know why I'm here." She turned to walk out of the bay.

"Don't you want your clothes?"

"I'm getting 'em!"

"No, you don't get to do this," the Doctor said. "You're not leaving me again. You came to _me_, remember."

"Yeah, well, I didn't really have a choice now, did I?"

"There's always a choice."

"No! I just… well I—" she stood looking at the Doctor, less frustrated now. "Somehow, my head told me to come to you. Call it circumstance, or fate. Some part of me, probably the daft part, seems to think whatever you and I have is going to work. But it doesn't matter. It all boils down to this: do you want me here or not?"

"How can you ask that? Of course I want you here."

"All I have to go on is the past couple of hours. I just met you. It doesn't feel like that, there's a familiarity, like I've said. But the human part of me, that logical bit, it knows I've only spoken with you for… four hours and twenty-seven minutes. So sue me if that's not enough time to completely trust a person!"

"So you're saying you can't remember anything beyond that time."

"Correct," Donna said.

"Then you really don't know me."

"What I've been trying to tell you from the beginning, Time Boy... Hmm, don't know where that name came from."

Donna looked like a teacher trying to explain a fairly simple concept to a thick student. She had hoped to impart her knowledge, but no matter how many times she repeated it the lesson just wouldn't stick. Bundling the clothes up to her, she turned to go.

"I'm going to change."

"Donna, wait."

She paused, but didn't turn around.

"The things you've done… that we've done, together…"

Donna bit her lower lip. That sentence had far too many implications for her liking.

"Things that I've done, with you, and _to_ you…"

"Wait, stop, I don't—" she protested.

"No," he said. "You've got to let me get this out. If you never remember, that's alright. Because I'll know. And maybe, with this link, if you want, maybe I can show you. Eventually. And if for some reason it doesn't work, it doesn't matter. Because we'll make new memories. But, if you do remember, _when_ you do… if you want to leave, I'll understand. I won't hold it against you."

"You make it sound like we… like you… I don't know, tortured me or something," she said softly.

"You might take it that way. But know that everything I did, I did it to help you."

She finally turned to face him. No tears, no angry words. Just a tinge of uncertainty on her features. She opened her mouth to speak, to reassure his own anxiety, but the TARDIS started ringing.

"What's that?" she asked, genuinely shocked.

"Telephone. I installed it a few weeks ago. Although I haven't given the number out, which would require some sophisticated hacking technology to transmit a signal while in the vortex. Certainly not human."

The pair bolted into the console room, Donna grasping her bundled clothes and the watch she'd yet to show the Doctor close to her chest.

"Let's see who's calling, shall we?" the Doctor said lightly, smiles returning to melt their heavier interaction.

A Sontaran appeared on the screen, toe-like head uncovered and scowl permanently stuck on an already unattractive face.

"Obligatory salutations. This is General Korglaz of the second regiment. Is this the Doctor speaking?" the Sontaran bellowed.

"Yes, ay, no need to shout into the microphone there. We can hear you just fine."

"Haha! _We_, I thought as much."

"Yes, we, sometimes I like to refer to myself in the first person plural. Me, myself, and I… we."

The Sontaran's brow furrowed even more than his original scowl allowed. "What do you mean? Who is on your ship? Is there another person there?"

"Person, weeeeell, depends on what you mean by that." The Doctor was holding Donna out of shot of the camera; at least until he could determine what the Sontarans wanted.

"Is there another body on your ship? We're attempting to track the human female you whisked away earlier today."

"I'm going to have to disappoint you fellows," the Doctor said, cheerily. "She skidaddled a while ago, just after she'd boarded my ship. Took my favorite mug with her, too. She always did that. Just between us guys, super annoying habit, really."

Donna looked offended, mouthed 'I never', but was quickly shushed by the Doctor.

"We tracked her vortex manipulator signal to these coordinates, enabling us to infiltrate your communication signal. The vortex manipulator must still be onboard, as it _is_ Sontaran standard issue," Korglaz explained.

"Yes, well… I said she left. But she didn't take the vortex manipulator with her. It's, uhm… still here. In her room, with other… stuff." The Doctor was flabbergasted, and Donna a little unsettled, too. How could they be so stupid as to not disassemble the original energy signature and reroute it off an independent source? Like, possibly, _the time vortex in the TARDIS_?

Donna knocked on the Doctor's mind. _Is this what thinking in tandem feels like?_

_Indeed it is! Except, it feels much better when we don't simultaneously realize we've made a stupid mistake. More, but later. Let me see if I can get anything else out of these guys._

"So, I've got your manipulator. Do you need it back? Because I can leave it for you somewhere. And then you can just go get it. From… a planet. Somewhere. Or when."

"We would rather know where the human female is. The Noble one."

"That she is," the Doctor said cheekily.

"No. Just her coordinates will suffice, Doctor."

"Why do you want her?"

"That's classified information," Korglaz spat.

"Then I'm afraid her coordinates are as well."

"Doctor, surely there's been enough destruction over this puny human already. Just hand her over and it will cease."

"Destruction? What do you mean?"

"Why, on Earth, of course. The destruction has presented itself in natural disasters as of late, what with the Pooideations uprooting half of the countryside with their search. As per the restrictions of the Shadow Proclamation, we have remained in covert operations. But the moment further alien involvement is made known, we will resume our search above ground, restrictions nullified."

"The restrictions extend to any alien presence, paragraph 4, subsection f."

"But only the original perpetrators are sanctioned, subsection g," Korglaz smirked. "Besides, the Judoon never walked away from a battle with Sontarans without a few casualties. We are not scared of those overfed earth beasts. Now, the coordinates for the human female."

"I'm sorry, but I don't think I can do that."

"Ah, yes, my subordinates informed me as much. Bring her in!" Korglaz stood back from the camera to reveal a bound and terrified Sylvia Noble, scared yet uncooperative as ever. She thrashed against her Sontaran escorts, muffled shouts never ceasing behind her gag.

"We would really rather make the trade as soon as possible," Korglaz said from off-camera. "This earthling has a shrillness that offends even the toughest soldiers."

"Just wait until you hear her daughter," the Doctor said.

_What do you want to do?_ The Doctor asked Donna.

_We've got to go back and get her._

_But shall I feed them false coordinates? Set some sort of trap?_

_No, tell them you'll bring me._

He nodded discreetly.

"Alright, as you say, enough destruction has taken place. And all over some puny human. Look, she found me. I never wanted her back, so you can have her," the Doctor said.

The words stung, though she didn't know why. She had, after all, insisted she'd only known the man for four hours. Nevertheless, he reassured her.

_I'll always want you._

"But let me bring her to you. As you know, I'm rather fond of humans, so I wouldn't like to see that one back there get hurt," he said, nodding to Sylvia. As if he wasn't already on her worst side. Trading in her daughter to an alien race probably put him on the top of Sylvia Noble's kill list.

"But what do you want with her? Why are all of the species so transfixed on this woman? She's nothing special."

The sting returned in Donna's gut.

_You're so brilliant_, he thought.

"Her energy signature rivals your own, Doctor. Her permanent presence here on earth has radiated over time and space. What would you have done? Sat back and watched as another species acquired it? I think not. Thankfully, we're on the first wave of invaders. We'll have her off and out before any other silly species has their helmets screwed on straight."

"So… you'll use her for what? As a power source?"

"It doesn't matter how she's used. Only that she is acquired. You should know better than anyone, Doctor. Your name resounds through all of time and space, just as hers does now. The only problem with catching you is that you never stay still long enough to _be _caught. Your signature is sporadic, but the signature on earth is so powerful. She'll never be able to set foot here again without some species looking for her. So do us all a favor and hand her over. You obviously have issues with the human… although, our energy readers indicate she is no longer simply human. She may even be more powerful than _you_!" the Sontaran let out a gruff laugh, joined in staccato rhythm by the soldiers behind him. "You have one hour to return to base with the Noble female. If not, this one will be used as target practice for the newest covert initiates."

Sylvia let out a few choice words from behind her gag, and even threw what would be considered on earth as a highly offensive hand gesture toward her captors.

"It's interesting that you left her so soon," Korglaz said softly. "The intel provided indicated you _cared_ about that female…We would have simply taken any human off the street instead of going through the trouble of finding her genetic match if we had known your true feelings." He waved a hand and the guards took Sylvia away. "Alas, she was the only one with similar DNA. Why would you want to save her, if she reminds you of the Noble woman you obviously care so little for?"

The Doctor's face was hard set, his anger for hostages and an Earth gone wrong encroaching on the charade of the conversation.

"I don't like it when humans are bullied. Let's leave it at that."

"We shall. We expect you in one hour. At the base you infiltrated earlier today."

The monitor shut off with an offensive click. The Doctor looked down at his hands, gripping the railing of the console with white-knuckled intensity.

"Ease up there, Doctor," Donna said. "From what you've told me about us, this doesn't sound like anything we haven't already done. Saving worlds and such."

"Yes, but it's never been about you before. Donna, do realize what this means?"

"It means I'll never get to go home."

"Then _why_ are you so calm? I've lost my home, I can't tell you what it feels like."

"Doctor, you forget…" she said, tapping her temple. "I _know_ what it feels like. But, if you'll have me, when this is over, why not let me stay with you? The universe forever searching for the pair they want most, but can never find."

"You make it sound like this is going to turn out well."

"Doesn't it always?" Donna asked.

"No. No, it doesn't," he said truthfully. "Sometimes, people get hurt. Or they die. By my hand."

She placed her own hands over the ones holding tightly onto the rail. He thought back to that horrible lever, that horrible choice at Pompeii.

"Or by yours," he whispered.

She looked up sharply, ill-prepared for that bit of information. "Well, did we try? Do we always try to save them? To help as many people as we can?"

"Of course we try—"

"Well, that's all we can do. We can only try. And when we stop trying, that's when it has to end. But now, we're right in the middle of something. Can't end yet. So, let's go save my mum," she said, crossing to the other side of the TARDIS and lifting a lever. "And let's try to save the world while we're at it, Spaceman."

"Only genetic match…" he mumbled.

"What was that?"

"He said that Sylvia was your only genetic match."

"Yeah?"

"What happened to Wilf?"

"Oh…" Donna said. "He passed. Couple'a months ago. Pretty sure it was a stroke. Great man, Gramps was."

The Doctor gulped. "Yeah, indeed he was. I'm um… Sorry I wasn't there."

"You couldn't have known."

"But I could have—"

"Doctor, you've got to realize that not everything is your fault. Some things are out of your control."

He looked up and gave her a grin, springing into action at her side.

"It always flies better with two pilots," he admitted.

"Then off we go?"

"Allonsy!"

***Cues cheesy, tv voice over* "Will the Doctor and Donna be able to save Sylvia? Can they stop the hoard of invaders, hurtling toward Earth? Will Donna ever REMEMBER? Tune in next time, for all of these answers, and MORE!" Haha, just couldn't help myself. Reviews appreciated!**


	9. Hostage Negotiations and Flying China

**Why the heck not? I mean, it's the weekend. I think it's alright to do two chapters in one weekend. Also, note there will be a rating change within the next 2-3 chapters. Mainly for language and themes, but I'm letting you know early in case you need to change your filters. Have I mentioned I don't own this? Enjoy :D  
**

There are a number of things one should never do when attempting to infiltrate a Sontaran camp. For example, don't go in unarmed and unable to defend; or to negotiate for a hostage with emotional ties to the negotiator; and you should never enter said camp when security is increased because one is _expected_. But by far, the worst possible action is going in without a plan. But when you're sort of a genius, with a genius best friend, that's just what you do.

Donna and the Doctor traced back the Sontaran signal that Korglaz had used to latch onto the vortex manipulator, and landed inside the abandoned warehouse. Stepping out of the whirring TARDIS, the Doctor look around anticlimactically.

"Something's rotten in the state of Sontar."

"What do you mean?" Donna asked.

"There's nothing here, but this is definitely where the signal's coming from."

"It's underground, you prawn."

Donna marched over to the middle of the open floor and knelt down.

"Oh, I forgot this bit," she said, concentrating on the holes in the floor. "You need three fingers."

"Donna, you've got three fingers."

"Yes, right." She readjusted her hand in the 'live long and prosper' sign, and inserted the finger groupings into the holes. Nothing happened.

"Well, beats me," she shrugged.

The Doctor whipped his sonic out of his pocket.

"Probably needs a genetic match. Allow me madam."

The instrument squealed and the floor separated, one section sliding below the other to reveal the eerie red light and steep staircase. A Sontaran soldier waited at the base.

He nodded mutely at the pair as they descended, issuing a curt jolt of the head as he stalked down the corridor.

"Right, yes, we'd love to follow you. Thanks for asking," Donna snarked.

Donna's eyes flitted over the Doctor's form in the harsh red light. He seemed composed, intense but not worried. He thankfully had not been relieved of his screwdriver, though what that tiny piece of sonic tech could do against an arsenal of laser guns and flame throwers was not instilling Donna with any particular sense of courageous bravado. She was, after all, still part human. And the human part of her was scared out of her wits.

They walked through two more automated doors and finally made it to the war room. General Korglaz stood in the center, flanked by a squad of ornery-faced Sontarans. Strix stood at the front as well, though recognition still seemed absent. Donna guessed he was feigning ignorance in the face of his squadron, but his utter shock at Donna's recognition upon their last interaction caused puzzlement. Donna was starting to think this entire situation seemed extremely atypical.

"She has come with you willingly, I see," Korglaz said.

"When she heard it was her mother, she practically begged me to bring her back," the Doctor said.

"Begging is dishonorable," Korglaz returned. "We would expect more from a power as great as your own, female."

"Give me three minutes with you and I'll show you who'll beg," Donna murmured.

_Donna, focus_.

_Right, sorry Doctor._

"Bring out the yammering one!"

Sylvia Noble was ushered out once more, getting a decent knock against the shoulder armor of one of her escorts. The guards looked only mildly perturbed, but the older woman seemed mighty pleased with herself. Until her eyes fell on Donna. And the Doctor. Then, her expression fell completely.

"We came here to perform an exchange," the Doctor said. "Let's get on with it then."

"Yes, let's," Korglaz said.

The Doctor looked at Donna blankly and jerked his head toward the hoard of soldiers in the middle of the room. His blank face masked his mental ramblings, as he and Donna held a silent shouting match from brain to brain.

Donna walked toward Korglaz, and the guards thrust Sylvia in the opposite direction. She looked from the Doctor to her daughter and back, finally running to Donna as she tugged her gag free.

"Why the HELL is he here?" Sylvia asked Donna. "He said never again, he was going to stay away. Are you… you're sick—Donna," she hiccupped, fear evident in her voice. "What are you _doing_?"

"Mum, go with him. He's going to get you out of here. Don't worry," Donna pulled her mother close, whispering in her ear. "Everything's fine now, and we're all getting out of here. Just go stand beside the Doctor and don't listen to anything else, alright?"

"Enough of this sentimentality, humans!" one of the Sontarans yelled.

Another soldier forced her away from her mother and shoved Sylvia once again toward the Doctor. Donna was placed in heavy, hydraulic handcuffs and taken to Korglaz.

"Alright then," the Doctor said, clapping his hands. "Exchange, over and done with. I've washed my hands of this, so please don't contact me again. I advise you to get off of this planet with your precious cargo, or else I'll have to come back and _make you leave_."

"We have no quarrel with you," Korglaz returned. "You may go."

"Thank you, pleasure doing business with you." He grasped Sylvia's arm and hauled her as quickly as his skinny frame could carry her. The doors closed on Donna and the Sontarans, Sylvia's protests ringing through the hallway. Korglaz turned to Donna.

"Now, human—"

"Oh, I much prefer 'the Noble one'," Donna said.

"It matters not what you are called, only that you are used."

"Yeah, well, I've been used one too many times in my life to have it happen again, so I'm afraid I'm going to have to refuse."

The Sontarans grumbled, rebuffed by this peculiar human's audacity.

"You don't have a choice. Consider: any further verbal disrespect will result in physical punishment."

Donna finally heard the faint whir of the TARDIS taking off, signaling her mother and the Doctor's safe departure. From here on in it was just her.

She stepped right suddenly, causing the room to draw their weapons and the squad surrounding Korglaz to spread.

"Careful, careful…" Donna chirped. "Now, if I was a soldier, and I had been sent on a _special_ mission to find a specific human to be used as a power source, would I think it _wise_ to disintegrate that human into a pile of ash with my newly issued weapon just because I got a little trigger-happy?" She raised her hands in a defensive shrug. "Just something to consider."

"Stand down!" Korglaz shouted, and weapons were holstered. "She can do nothing but taunt; she is acquired, she is our prisoner!"

"Yeah, and what's that all about?" Donna asked. "I mean, not that I'm not brilliantly entertaining company. Give me a bottle of red and a karaoke bar and we're talking _legend_, but you can't just take away my…" she gestured to herself. "_This_ness."

"With the rerouting device we do not need your consent. Your DNA will be collected and your body modified, in order to adhere to the Determinate Flux Transmitter. You have no control over the issue."

"Determinate Flux Transmitter, you say?" Donna nodded, mock approval on her face.

The Sontarans seemed bewildered at her lack of concern. Donna, buying time, began pacing amongst the Sontaran squad at the front of the room.

"So, you're going to hook me to a machine with a psychic connector, harnessing my knowledge and time energy through a hyperinflux capacitor which will allow you to control specific points within the vortex as you see fit? Good thought, good thought… But you'd do _loads_ better if you used a rotational generating wavelength receptor as opposed to a vertical column. It's more stable in the transitional process." She was looking at the blue prints for the capacitor on the war room wall.

"And, you might want a paint job for your device. My hair clashes with industrial chrome. You will however…" Donna stepped quickly behind one of the Sontarans in the front group, raising her heavy, hydraulic-locked hands above her head.

"… need me. And, as much as I like the attention, I've sort of got a date. And some explaining to do." As she brought her metal-encased hands down on the probic vent of the nearest Sontaran, Donna simultaneously pressed the remote settings on the sonic, literally hidden up her sleeve. Following the unconscious Sontaran to the ground, the sonic's preprogrammed settings activated the standard issue vortex manipulator, leaving a blank space on the floor and a roomful of enraged Sontaran soldiers.

* * *

Materializing three hours later outside the Noble family home in Chiswick, Donna quickly removed the hydraulic handcuffs with a bit of sonicking, turning to her Sontaran captive and placing them over his three-fingered hands. A much snugger fit. As she manipulated the unconscious Sontaran, she recognized the vortex manipulator serial number. Looking again, she realized she had just rendered Strix unconscious, suddenly second-guessing herself. She cut the signal on the manipulator immediately, rerouting it through the time vortex power source on the TARDIS. Yet, they still had the original manipulator in the TARDIS, the one Donna had shown up with. Using all her effort, she dragged the Sontaran into the blue box. Sontarans, after all, did not have a chameleon circuit. It wouldn't do to have old Mrs. Mollison questioning her mum about the disturbing figure in her front lawn. She returned to the TARDIS console and double-checked the vortex manipulator against the one Strix had strapped to his arm. Same number. There was even a similar indention running along the buttons on the left side, a light streak of wear on the wrist strap.

"Curiouser and curiouser…" she mumbled.

Leaving Strix to his 2-4 hour blackout (Sontaran standard period of unconsciousness after a blow to the probic vent), she happily approached the front door to her family home. Happiness melted to apprehension when she heard shouting and the distinctive crash of china.

"Bastard! You said _NEVER_, never tell her!" Sylvia shouted, as a teaspoon sailed past Donna's ear upon entering the sitting room. "You don't even know what it's been like this past year. She tried to…And you just left her with those… _things_! Her brain is gonna burn up and she'll never—"

"Now, now, you keep this up we won't have any tea things left, mum," Donna said airily.

"Oh my… Donna," Sylvia breathed, relieved.

Relief. And fear. For her. Donna was bewildered by her mother's attitude. Like she knew something Donna didn't.

"He just left you there!" Sylvia shouted, accusing finger pointed across the room.

The Doctor, meanwhile, had curled into a defensive position in one of the sitting chairs. Behind him was a shattered saucer, a dismantled box of biscuits, and a now broken telly controller, black plastic and batteries scattered against the far wall.

"Yes, well," Donna began, realizing that a vocal Doctor would be synonymous with a dead Doctor if explanations went awry. "We had discussed it, prior to going in. You didn't think we wouldn't go in to save you without a plan, did you?"

_Are you alright?_ Donna thought.

_Daleks are more merciful than your mother._

"I don't know _what_ the hell I'm supposed to think!" Sylvia shouted. "This is all too much," she said, collapsing onto the couch. "I thought you were gone," she said to the Doctor. "And what's worse… I thought you were gone, too," gaze turning to Donna.

"Sylvia," the Doctor said tentatively. "Donna came to me. She doesn't know why!" he said hurriedly, stopping an impending interjection. "It just happened. Her memories, though. They're lost. And she doesn't really know me. She. Doesn't. Know. Me."

Donna looked back and forth between the pair, confusion and frustration and the giddiness of escape and adrenaline fueling a weird sensation in her core.

"What are you not telling me?" she asked.

"She has to find out on her own time," the Doctor said to Sylvia.

Sylvia bobbed her head up and down from the couch, staring in wary awe of her daughter.

"What we do know," the Doctor continued, "is that some species are after Donna. That's why the Sontarans came after you. To get to her. Is there some place that you can go? Some place where you'll be safer? Donna and I can fix this, but with you so nearby, you pose a risk."

"Donna, might I have a word with him?"

Donna, not usually so complacent in interactions with her mother, stepped into the kitchen. Admittedly, the woman had just been kidnapped by an alien race. She deserved some leeway. But it bothered her that the Doctor and her mother shared a secret. Was it a secret? There was certainly a discernable subtext, and the flying cutlery wasn't just darts practice. She shut her eyes and attempted to increase her telepathic connection.

…_don't know why she doesn't remember…_

That silly shroud that clouded her memories was garbling the words, as if she were hearing a message through water.

… _mutation in her brain… burn… Time Lord consciousness…_

Why couldn't he be in here explaining to her? They were friends after all. Right?

… _I do…I… truly do…_

It didn't seem right that she was the last to know. She knew facts and figures, phenomena that would happen and histories that had happened, of her world and others. But anything connected to her, anything connected to him; it was all hidden. Not blank. It was faint. Like a set of notes, erased, but the light pencil impression had been left and written over in pen. If she could just remove the offensive permanency of the pen, hold the paper up to the light, she might could see her own memories. She wouldn't intrude on his, of course, that's what their personal barriers were for. But this? This was her life… Two years of her life.

Sylvia and the Doctor came into the kitchen, neither looking particularly pleased with the other.

"Right then," Sylvia said. "So, I don't suppose I can stop you from going with him?"

"No mum. We're the only ones who can stop whatever's happening."

"I should have known after the three mudslides in the East End. Honestly, a mud slide in the city? Had to be him…" she hugged Donna, catching her by surprise. "I'm going to stay with your Uncle Phil. I've been told to make myself scarce, get out of town. You always did attract trouble, and you never backed down from a fight. I've already said my piece with 'im," Sylvia said, motioning toward the Doctor. "But you… I don't know what's happened to you. It's been so devastating these last few months… I hope you find whatever it is that's going to make you happy."

She released her daughter and exited, casting an uncharacteristically forlorn glance back into the kitchen before heading up the stairs.

"_That_ was strange," Donna said. "And this coming from the woman who was used in an alien hostage exchange mere moments ago."

"We should get going," the Doctor said curtly.

"Not with that attitude we're not," Donna replied, not rising from her chair.

"We've got to get on with this. Whatever this is. If I'm right, the Sontarans will be here in hours. Not to mention the unknown other alien species attempting to 'snatch' you. You need to not be here," he said, gesturing violently at the floor. "You're a liability to the safety of this planet, Donna. We need to be moving."

"A liability?" Donna said, standing quickly. "I never asked for this to happen to me. And don't you _dare_ take that tone with me. I don't know what's going on any more than you do, but you are not allowed to fly off the handle just because you don't know how to fix something!"

He ran a hand through his disheveled hair, massaging tired, confused eyes.

"Ugh… you're right, sorry, shouldn't have snapped."

"It's stupid to think you can control everything," she said.

"A lot of the times, I can. But with you… I can never control _anything_ when it comes to you. I should know that by now."

"Don't think I've forgotten whatever that little tête-à-tête was with my mum, either. All I know is, we've got an unconscious Sontaran in your time machine that needs to not be there; and if my mum hugs me one more time this week, I'll know for sure the universe is going absolutely bonkers."

"I think it's already there."

They left the Noble kitchen for the TARDIS, questions unfortunately outnumbering answers.

***remember, upcoming rating change in the next two chapters. Just be on the lookout. Reviews appreciated!**


	10. Unnatural Human Nature

**Simply more to the story. Will be bumped up to M next chapter (mainly for language, themes, and paranoia on my part). Don't own: Moffat, Davies, BBC. We know, we know. ENJOY :D  
**

After depositing a still unconscious Strix outside the abandoned warehouse of Sontaran fortitude, the Doctor landed the TARDIS on Stepney Way. Sylvia's comment on mudslides stirred that unquenchable curiosity that made the Doctor function. Further fueled by Donna's recollections of lurching trees and soaring shrubs, the Doctor made sure to land near a patch of grass: a park, unfortunately somewhat crowded with leisure-seeking humans. Too many humans for an alien confrontation. Donna and the Doctor made their way over to a bench, surveying the lumpiness of a landscape littered with debris from an aberrant shifting of the earth. The temperature had decreased significantly, Donna wrapping her arms around her torso as she sat.

"I should have known before the Sontarans said it; of course it was the Pooideations!" Donna exclaimed. "Organic plant life here on earth are descended from the Pooideation race, making it quite easy for sentient plant beings to adhere to Earth plants' organic biologies and institute some sort of control over physical mobility. Can't wait til they make an appearance. They nearly made me bloody _wreck my car_! If those little plants show their green faces… or roots— or whatever. I'll… I'll turn 'em into a salad."

Glancing sideways, Donna quirked a brow at a serene Doctor.

"Wha? What's it? I have something on my face?"

"No, you're just…" he chuckled. "Don't take this the wrong way, but I think you're starting to sound like me."

"I get the feeling that's not necessarily a compliment."

"Weeeeell, it's not, _not_ a compliment."

"Doesn't make me feel any better."

"I said _don't_ take it the wrong way. But, you still sound like you, too. Only Donna Noble would threaten one of the most ancient alien races in the universe with vinaigrette and a salad fork."

"I'd make sure it was a really pointy one, too."

They shared a shy smile, still wary of a somewhat foreign comfort between them.

"So what are we here for anyway?" Donna asked.

"You're mother said there had been mudslides in the east end."

"Yeah, so?"

"My guess is, the Pooideations uprooted all the natural life around the area, causing the slides. They're literally turning the Earth over looking for you."

"But I live on the west side of the city."

"Yes, true. But, consider…" the Doctor began eyeing distinct points around the landscape. "On earth, the sun rises in the east, sets in the west. Pooideations feed off of an advanced chlorophyllian compound—"

"Like a daisy on steroid-infused Miracle Grow."

"—that is only produced via photosynthesisian processes in large amounts. As you probably know, Pooidea has three suns and—"

"A perpetual rainy season, rendering expansive plant growth—"

"That would not be possible on other planets. The Pooidea need the sun to kickstart photosynthesis, allowing physical mobility. By integrating with the plants in the east first, they have a better chance of advanced mobility, from the start of the day until the end."

"Well, that explains it then," Donna said.

"Explains what?"

"The silly barrage of all-things-natural happened on the motorway when I was driving back from the hospital that morning. It was about forty miles northeast of the city proper."

He glossed over her agreement and instead focused on the new information provided. "Why were you in the hospital?"

"I'd blacked out. Not a big deal. It was after I had…"

"What?"

"I can't remember, exactly." She glanced at the ground, her feet and legs held tightly together as she braced herself against the cold.

The Doctor tentatively placed an arm around her shoulder, rubbing with his hand through the bulk of her coat sleeve. The air was crisp but her insides suddenly felt a thousand degrees warmer.

"Back to my original question: we're here because you think the Pooideations are somewhere in the eastern part of the city? And what are we gonna do when we find them?" Donna asked.

"Oh, I'm counting on them finding us."

"Why is that?"

"Did you not hear the Sontarans? You're basically the hottest commodity Earth's had since that big misunderstanding over methylhydrocarbonite a couple hundred years after Earth's formation."

"Ha! Methylhydrocarbonite. Basically the pyrite scam of the universe."

"But you're the real deal. You're not fool's gold. If as many species want you as I do, then they'll know where to find you."

"_Wot?!_"

"Oh look, here come the Pooideations now," he said, as if his last comment were merely about the weather, or what pair of sneakers he would be wearing that day.

Donna stood and followed, brain suddenly hyperalert and overly analytical.

The pair marched over to a bush lining the pavement around the park area. The only difference between it and the other bushes was that it had assumed a human form, like one of those carefully sculpted garden plants that one saw on the lawns of eccentric billionaires or at gardening competitions. As the wind picked up the leaves moved, causing arms and heads and chests to waver in the breeze. Donna could tell the Pooideation was expending significant effort to maintain its form.

"To what do we owe the pleasure?" the Doctor asked jovially.

The hole in the head of the bush gaped, revealing a few berries and a twig of a tongue. A bug flew out and across the grounds. Rustling leaves created the barest whisper, but Donna could make out some sort of sibilant language against the rushing wind.

"We… require… the Noble one."

"For what reason?" the Doctor asked.

"Her power is unmatched… her biology the most coveted… in all of space. Samples… of her DNA… an organic combination of earthling and gallifreyan… could sustain the inhabitants of Pooidea for eternity!"

"There is no eternity," Donna said. "Everything ends. You, of all species should know that. Plant life cycles in seasons. With winter's death comes spring's rebirth. You're lucky, you have the luxury of regeneration. Not all species do. Why not be happy with your lot?"

"The Pooideations are usually a nonaggressive species. They've suffered severe losses throughout history at the hands of fire from invaders," the Doctor said.

"I'm sorry, you _want_ me to go with the grass goblins?"

"Of course not, I'm only explaining their reasoning."

"Doesn't matter. They can't take me. And nonaggressive? What about the massive landslide they caused over this whole section of London? Or when I was on the motorway? No telling how many cars they totaled. People could have been _hurt_."

She shot a cutting glare at the nature alien.

"I'm not going with you."

"Then… watch your planet… disintegrate." The collection of leaves collapsed and was carried off by the wind. The Doctor and Donna watched as the leaves hung on the breeze, suddenly keenly aware of Donna's value. Both as a power source… and as a bargaining chip. A bargaining chip for Earth's continued existence.

"Yeah well, you better watch it!" Donna shouted at the air. "I've got three pair of pruning shears and am not afraid to use them!"

"They sort of have a point, not that it's correct," the Doctor said.

"And _WHAT_ would that be exactly?"

"You have to understand, they would thrive with eternal regenerative power from the time vortex. The cycle would never have to take place. Eternal spring."

"That's silly," Donna said. "It's more than silly; it's unnatural, literally and figuratively."

"What's so wrong with eternal spring?"

"There's no summer, no fall, no winter. Spring forever? It would be neverending."

"And endings are bad because?" the Doctor asked.

"There would never be any beginnings."

Donna was angry, striking the bush in front of her for good measure. She turned on her heel and walked straight back toward the TARDIS.

She was flicking switches and pulling levers when the Doctor walked in.

"So, where to?" she asked.

"Donna, what are you doing?"

"What does it look like? I'm _leaving_, Spaceman. No Donna on Earth, no reason for aliens to come. Problem solved. Now, I'm suddenly somewhat attached to the idea of that planet with moving mountains… mountains that sway in the breeze… I feel like I almost went there once, but if you'd prefer somewhere else, I'm sure we could—"

"Donna."

Her hands stopped and she looked at the Doctor across the console.

"You see that blinking light there?" he asked.

"Yeah."

"Hit the button beneath it."

"Why?"

"New feature. Video voicemail."

She rolled her eyes and jammed the button. And she watched.

Messages. Not messages directly for the Doctor, but intercepted over the galaxies. And all of them had one word in common: Noble. She saw battalions forming, weapons stored, transport prepared, all hurtling towards Earth. Her likeness flashed across screens on alien planets in the future and the past. Raxicoricofallipatorious, full of Slitheen, the planet of the Ood, bowing to her image, then Cartegs, Pyroviles, Vesperforms, Plasmavores, and the list continued, all focused on her. On acquiring her.

"How did you get these?"

"After the Sontaran call, I created a wavelength signature that filtered all transmissions that didn't use the words 'Noble' or 'Earth' in the same message. These were just the ones that did."

"What… what am I supposed to do with all of this?!" she shouted at him.

"Look, Donna, I'm just showing you what's coming this way. If they land on Earth and you're not here…"

"So I'm the reason that the planet gets destroyed?! Why can't they just come after us? We would never stay in one place long enough to be captured. You said so yourself. Keep traveling, keep going."

"Donna, it's your home planet. What the Sontarans did to your mother, other species are going to do with Earth."

"But what can I do? I'm not… I can't go with them," she said weakly.

"I never suggested that."

Her anger flared at his placating tone. "And what about you, oh Lord of Time? Huh? What makes you so special that you get to keep running? I'm part time lord, I should have that prerogative as well, shouldn't I?"

"The difference between you and me, is that you have a home planet to protect and I don't. Personally, I'd rather be in your shoes."

"Well, you can have 'em, Spaceman! Hope you don't mind size eight heels. They're hell for running, but they really give your calves some definition." Her sarcasm was met with a blank stare and a shrug; he cautiously began to move towards her, circling the console.

"Donna, you said it yourself. You're part time lord. That kind of power comes with a price."

"I swear, if you quote Spiderman at me right now I will slap you so hard your future regenerations will feel it."

He smiled carefully at her, awe-struck by her sass in the face of perpetual doom for her planet.

"So, I can't run. Do you have some sort of genius plan?" she asked.

"Not… at the moment, no."

"I don't like your answer but I suppose I like the truth. How long do you think we have?"

"Judging from these transmission timestamps, I'd say about half a day. They'll probably be here by midnight."

She nodded slowly, brain once again postulating ludicrous and plausible theories. Her mind latched onto one that she didn't particularly like; one that might be the only way to save her planet.

"A couple of hours. Alright, alright…" she unbuttoned her coat and threw it over the jump seat. "Mind if we go to the library? I think pretty well in there."

"Sure," the Doctor said.

Donna sat in front of the fireplace in the library, waiting until the Doctor returned with what she believed might be her last cup of tea before the biggest fight of her life. And that was including the scrape she got into with Millicent Thompkins over a boy in secondary school. She thought _that_ had been brutal. The thought made her sad, not nearly as sad as the destruction of her planet. But every little thing could be her last, if the plan she'd concocted was the way she would ultimately face the wrath of the universe. But he couldn't know. He could never know. She fingered the chain of the fob watch, running a nail under the lid. The etched 'D' reflected the flames from the fire, an orangey-gold light that kept her transfixed. She didn't even notice the Doctor come in until he sat down beside her.

"You know, you're not going to face them alone. I've been around a long time—"

"Nine hundred and eighty four years," she said.

"—and I've seen 'em all. Never stopped me before. Although, a very smart woman once told me that I need someone to stop me. To keep me from going too far. Hey, look at me, will you?"

She raised her head and was about to speak, but his eyes suddenly fell to the object in her hands.

"What've you got there?"

He grabbed the chain and pulled it towards him, mesmerized by the large cursive _D_ and her reflection on its door.

"It won't open," she said.

"Lemme try."

He pressed the latch, fumbled with the lip, but the watch remained shut.

"This… it's a Time Lord's timepiece," he said. "Where'd you get it?"

"You remember how that Sontaran saved me? Pulled me out of bed in the middle of the night? It was him. He left it with me, the day I passed out and got taken to the hospital. Since they found it on my body they wrapped it up with my personal effects. Kept hold of it ever since."

The Doctor's face suddenly piqued, and he took her hand in his.

"Do you know what a biologic metacrisis is?" he asked.

"Of course."

"You realize that a new consciousness is the result of a metacrisis, correct?"

"I'm following."

"Did you also know, that a Time Lord seals his consciousness inside of these fob watches for safe keeping, if something dangerous is happening, if… if memories are too painful?"

She was eyeing him carefully, very aware of his slender fingers round her wrist.

"Now, a _two _way biologic metacrisis, that's a little bit of two consciousnesses."

"But those aren't possible."

"You're right. They shouldn't be. Until now."

Her brow furrowed in confusion as she stared down at the watch. He tipped her head upwards, forcing her to meet his gaze. Looking into his eyes, she saw himself, not her own reflection, just like earlier. And then it clicked.

"So, I'm part-you. Not just part any-old-Time-Lord, but part you?"

"No. It started out that way. But like you said, it's mutated. It was like, me," he held up his hand, "and you," he held up his other, "and the metacrisis did this." He clapped them together swiftly. "But because a two-way metacrisis is impossible, things… happened. The bit of me was theoretically butting heads with the bit of you, and each side was crushing the other, fighting to survive. But now, with the genetic mutation… you've adapted." He laced his fingers together, forming a comfortable glob of interlocking digits. "Like, interspecies breeding, but less… icky sounding. More like, a horse and a donkey make a mule."

"Is this some roundabout way of saying I'm stubborn?"

"No! No, it's not, nothing like that… Just when I saw this," he held up the watch. "These fob watches are isomorphic. They can only be opened by the person whose consciousness created them."

"It was me, I created it. But I can't open it."

"It wasn't just you, it was me, too."

"But _you _can't open it either, dumbo!"

"You still don't see it… TWO-way metacrisis, Donna."

Donna eyed the watch, dangling like a talisman from his hand.

"So, we have to open it together," she said, almost more of a question than a statement.

"Yes. But, I should warn you, an influx of memories is difficult even under optimum circumstances. Your history… it may be very difficult. I feel safer now, knowing that the mutation has shielded you from physical injury, but psychologically, this might not be good."

Donna pondered her situation for a moment. Two years of her life were still missing. Her planet was on the brink of destruction, unless she could figure out something, anything to do… Her tomorrows were more than uncertain. So, she wanted to know. She'd rather die knowing than live in ignorance.

"Yeah, I'm ready, let's do this," she said, taking his hand in hers.

"One more thing Donna," the Doctor said. "Whatever you see in here, know that I'm going to help you. And, once this situation is sorted, if we can get it sorted… I'll… um— I'll understand if you want me to leave."

"You keep saying that. Why do I feel like you'll be the death of me?" she asked, voice drowning in sincerity.

"Because, unfortunately… I probably will."

With her hand and his on the watch, they pressed the release latch together. Responding to their dual presence, the isomorphic timepiece opened to reveal a golden cyclone of ethereal memories the Doctor had tried to erase, leaving an extremely overwhelmed Donna and a dreadfully anxious Doctor facing each other on the library couch.

**Sorry to leave you off there... But reviews still appreciated!**


	11. Confrontation

**When this story started, this is the scene that I had been building to. Despite the amazing talent for humor Tate and Tennant possess, I believe every whovian worth their salt want to see some sort of scene like this between 10 and Donna. This is my modest offer, and I hope it does a little justice to the writers and actors. This was hard to write, but I loved it. Davies, Moffat, BBC. You own the characters we love. Enjoy :)**

"Donna? Donna…" the Doctor snapped his fingers in front of her frozen face, swiveling like a bobble-head as he fought for her attention.

"Can you hear me?" he asked.

"Unfortunately."

"Do you… do you know what's happening?"

She stared blankly back at him, then shifted so her feet rested firmly on the ground, her hands perched on her knees.

"I'm going to ask you to do something, and I would like for you to do it and not ask questions. Do you understand?" Donna asked.

"Um… sure."

"We have nine hours and forty-three minutes until the first species arrives for confrontation with Earth officials. I would like for you to take me somewhere, an uninhabited planet, and I would like to walk around there for a short while."

"Donna, I really don't think—"

"You will do this," Donna said stoically. Had her lips not been moving, her eyes not been open, her posture less composed, the Doctor would have thought her catatonic. "You will do this and you will come and get me when we reach wherever you decide. I'd rather not know which planet. I'd like to be surprised."

The Doctor reached a hand up to touch her shoulder.

"No."

"Right, then," the Doctor said. He stood, surveying Donna with sympathy, and exited toward the console room.

The tell-tale whir signified lift-off; Donna clutched the armrest of the couch to combat the turbulence. She shut her eyes and counted her breaths, nodding to herself. She suddenly gripped the sides of her head and doubled over, shaking. The TARDIS stabilized, and she heard his footsteps on the grating as he approached.

"We're here," he said from the doorway.

"Thank you."

She stood and walked briskly past him, her own footsteps echoing in the cavernous console room. She burst out of the door and into a forest. A forest with birdsong and a brook, multicolored pools reflecting the sunlight from different angles of the major and minor suns. She stumbled across a field of exotic wildflowers, oblivious to the Doctor following behind her. After walking several hundred yards, Donna reached a beach to a natural lake, tucked into a valley amongst several picturesque mountains. She looked out over the landscape and shut her eyes as the wind tangled her hair. Glancing around again, she saw the mountains swinging into place, having been blown out of position by the unruly wind.

"Ha, Felspoon," she laughed ironically.

"You'd mentioned it earlier," the Doctor said from behind.

"Yeah," she nodded, breath hitching and eyes watering. If the lake had been empty, she could have filled it with the tears of betrayal and abandonment. "I did indeed. I suppose it's fitting."

"For what?" he asked gently.

She suddenly grabbed her head, and let out a gut-twisting scream, shattering the stillness of the surrounding forest. She collapsed onto her knees, the rocks on the beachside tearing into her jeans. She pounded the shore and kept screaming, her voice sending ripples across the lake.

The Doctor was on her in a flash, wrapping his arms around her crumpled form.

"NO!" she yelled. She wanted this, needed to breakdown in utopia.

Struggling against his grip, she twisted and pushed, slapped and kicked, landing blow after blow on the Doctor's thin frame. He didn't stop her, practically relishing the physical abuse.

"You don't get to do this!" she shouted. "You don't get to bleedin' _comfort_ me. You lost that privilege _a whole fuckin' year ago_!"

She pushed violently out of his grip and stumbled backwards over a patch of rocks. She looked down, and picked up the nearest one. She'd never been much for sports, but she heaved it, with all of her strength, as far as she could into the lake. She needed to _move_, she needed to _do something_. She began frantically hurling stones at the waves, tiny pebbles and larger rocks as big as her fist. She wanted to run, and keep running, and never stop until she was sure she'd never see him again. She sank to her knees, now grabbing fistfuls of pebbles and chucking them into the water as tears streamed down her face and snot clogged her nostrils.

"Donna…"

"Shut up!" she said, searching for more rocks. She'd thrown them all and now resorted to grabbing handfuls of wet dirt.

"Donna—"

"No! Shut up. Just shut your damn mouth. Why is it that you never fuckin' _SHUT UP_?!"

"You have to talk to me."

"I don't _have _to do anything."

"Donna, I—"

"No," she yelled, throwing one of the rocks in his direction; frantic, like a cornered animal. She got up from her knees and stormed over to him.

"You don't get to do this," she said, pushing against his chest. "You don't get to _explain_. I told you… I told you what I wanted. You betrayed me! You left… And you just—"

She hit him again, and he took a faltering step backwards.

"You _ruined_ me," she whispered.

"I was trying to save you."

"Whose decision was that?" she spat, breaching his personal space. "Whose? How dare— How _DARE _you? You _violated_ me. You stole my memories, you made me…" She spun, hands in her hair, brain racing, breath coming in labored gasps. "You…" she pushed him back. "Took. Away. My. Choice."

With every word she pushed him further back; he not resisting, until he fell back into the lazy surf, a helpless cork dangling by a precariously thin line.

"Do you feel bad, Doctor?" Donna asked maliciously.

"I feel wet," he mumbled.

"Do you want to know what life has been like for me, over the past couple'a months? Hmm? You wanna know? I bet you don't, but guess what, I'm going to show you anyway!"

Driven by spite and something close to hatred, she raised her hands to her temples, dangerous gold tendrils swirling in her corneas. If it hadn't have been terrifying, the Doctor might have called her sublimely beautiful. Worse than an oncoming storm. A storm you could weather; you could recover. She was like an exploding sun; destruction imminent, pain inescapable.

"You don't have a choice. Why don't you see how it feels to live in chaos? To die… to die everyday in reality," she rasped.

In an instant she had removed the mental barrier she'd been holding up for so long:

_ The Doctor was witness to her memories and her feelings, her confusion and her hopelessness. He saw Donna, cowering between her mother's sofa cushions as she hallucinated Pyrovillian attackers on her peaceful street in Chiswick. He saw her at a stoplight, window rolled down and yelling at nothing, though she glimpsed an Ood on a street corner; onlookers stared and pointed. He felt her embarrassment as she sped off, running the light. He felt her anger, her puzzlement as she shouted at Shawn, tears burning, unable to deny an accusation of an affair._

_ "Who is he?"_

_ "No one, Shawn, I swear… it's not like that. He's different."_

_ His form stood behind Shawn as Donna cried, hand proffered towards her and grinning mischievously. He saw Donna, talking with him, smiling and happy, then suddenly left bereft as he disappeared into thin air... Donna, with a t-shirt at the London zoo, calling "J.D.?" helplessly as a crowd formed around her… Donna, visiting doctors, too many doctors; Donna, with pills and blood tests and pills and MRIs and pills and alcohol and pills and more pills until… Donna, standing with a knife over her kitchen sink, crimson spurting from the gash over her wrist; two empty bottles of cheap vodka, bobbing in a lukewarm bath, water tinted red and a blood-soaked towel bunched behind the toilet. Donna, shouting at herself, punching the mirror as his face appeared behind hers… Blood smearing her reflection and covering her knuckles as she wailed and picked glass from between her fingers…Donna, eyeing her pillbox and pondering just how easy it would be to fall asleep and never wake up again…_

"STOP IT!" he roared, flailing in the lake water. "Stop… just, please. Please," he said, slumped over in the lapping waves of the lake shore. "Stop it, please— I don't… I can't take this."

"Guess what Space nut?" she said, falling into the water herself. "Neither could I. That's… that's a part of me now," she said, shaking her head. She looked down into the water at her own likeness, viciously angry at the undulating image of a broken woman staring back at her. She lunged against the water's surface, her entire upper body sinking into the soft silt. She wished she could sink and never resurface, sink into the softness of nothingness where she didn't love what hurt her.

"I'd been trying to… to find a way to help you. I never stopped trying," the Doctor said softly.

"A for effort." A caustic remark.

"I think that's why… I think that's why you kept seeing me," he tried.

She eyed him viciously.

"I couldn't _not_ think of you, Donna. That's a part of you. And it's a part of me, now, though I desperately wish it wasn't a part of either of us. But, Donna, you have to know… I had to leave you. You don't know what it's like to have to walk away."

"I'm sorry, walk away? When have you _ever_ walked away?" she screeched. "I have to pull you, kicking and screaming. I guess this whole situation with me was just a bit too messy for you," she said harshly, punctuating her speech with random swipes at the waves.

"I'm sorry you kept seeing me. I wanted it to be a clean break."

"I honestly have no response for that. You sound like any bloke from earth. Guess you deserve what I'd say to them: GO. TO. HELL."

"Every time I thought about you, you saw me. Sometimes, I'd see you, beside me, and then you weren't really—"

"I saw you all the _fuckin'_ time!"

"Which makes sense, because I never stopped thinking of you. For a year, you were the only thing I couldn't… I couldn't help you; I could never get over what I did to you. The telepathy... if I had known... you would have never seen me, him. Whoever kept tormenting you," he answered softly.

Donna gave a hyperbolic fake pout and brought her hands out of the water, running them through her disheveled hair.

"You think you can just come back, smooth everything over, huh, Spaceman?" She was hysterical, laughing back her sobs. "History… memories, everything we had. And this year, these months… you should know, more than anyone, Time Lord." A shattering breath. "Time kills history. You would have gotten over me eventually," she said, trailing a finger in the water. "That's why you should have let me die. At least I would have still mattered." A hiccup. "I would have been a martyr."

"How could you expect me to let you go? How on earth could you think I would let you die?"

"You'd never _let_ me do anything. You interfere before anyone else can make a choice. Let me die? You made me _want to die_."

"There was no time!" he shouted, splashing forcefully in her direction.

The tide curled around her thighs, pressed against her objecting legs. It whooshed and swirled, tickling her ankles, jettisoning her yielding body further into the lake. It was pulling her closer to him. Even the water was on his side.

"A decision had to be made!" he shouted, gripping her shoulders.

"But it wasn't _your_ decision _to make_!"

"What do you want me to say? That I'm sorry? Cause I am. You know that. You've seen in here," he said, pointing to his head. "And now I know," he said frantically. "I think I've always known, that sorry will never be good enough! I've done things, Donna… Stupid things. I was on Mars, with this crew. I thought I could stop it, that I might be victorious. Just once. I felt it, right here, in my grasp, I thought I could… No, I can't— But I'm sorry. I'm sorry every bloody day of my life, because I can't do it all," he said, his own tears dripping into the lake with hers. "Because I _can't _save everyone and it's… Eerugh! It's hopeless, in my head, sometimes. So sometimes I do stupid things—"

"Finally something we can agree on."

"To make the best out of a bad situation."

"Why not just let the situation play out?"

"Because I didn't want you to DIE, ALRIGHT!" he roared. His grip on her shoulders tightened, wrapped fingers harshly possessive as he shook her into coherence. "Look at me," he said, as she stubbornly tilted her head toward the water.

"No, you have to look at me," he said, jerking her chin to his face. "I was selfish; I wanted you alive so I took away your consciousness. I took away every good thing you ever saw, every amazing action you ever did with me because I wanted you… I wanted to know you were out there somewhere, some when, even if it wasn't with me. Because a universe without Donna Noble is a universe I don't want to live in, and to my utter disgust _I can't die_. So guess what? You don't get to either. Not because of me. If that time comes, it will be _in spite of_ me. Consequences of being the best friend of a Time Lord."

He pulled her to his body and buried his head in her shoulder, her fitful protests slowly subsiding into resigned understanding as she slowly wrapped her arms around his shoulders. Intimate apologies and teary whispers trickled over, between and through them. A baptism of reluctant forgiveness and companionship in the waves of an alien lake. Water lapped at their waists and the mountains moved; but only for a Time Lord and his best friend.

* * *

The pair had moved to the sandy beach side and sat staring out over the water. Clothes sopping, fingers entwined, silence pervasive. The mountains continued to move.

"Doctor?"

"Yes Donna?"

"I'm sorry I did that."

"I know Donna."

Donna drew lazy figures in the sand with her free right hand.

"I understand… but I don't know if I forgive you yet," she said, captivated by moving mountains.

A silent nod.

"Donna?"

"Yes, Doctor?"

"I'm sorry, too."

"You should be."

He smiled at her and she smiled at him, and almost all was right with the universe.

"Donna, can I do something?"

He waited patiently for permission, the wariness returning due to their physical contact. He held up her left hand, already enclosed in his right.

The waves had forced them together, a sensual rhythm driving them to embrace. They'd not broken physical contact since emerging, hand in hand, her head on his shoulder. But it couldn't continue. If it did, she would be racing toward a reckless inevitability; one step further away from the 'mates' of times past.

"Sure," she answered cautiously.

He shifted on the sand and turned her left wrist over, pushing her sleeve up her arm.

"No, Doctor, you don't want—"

Forcing silence with a sharp look, he inspected the gashes on her forearm with an air of guilt and repulsion. Turning into her, he raised her left arm to his lips, murmuring Gallifreyan words against the scarred skin. Intoxicating regeneration energy flowed from his mouth to her body, erasing the physical wounds of previous mistakes, comforting the mental wounds impossible to forget. Her body tensed in almost primal response as the scars faded. He left his lips against her skin even after the healing incantation was well over.

She shut her eyes against more brimming tears. "Thank you," she whispered.

"There's more I want to know, Donna. If you'll allow me."

"You're only torturing yourself."

"I don't care. I need to know. But this isn't about… about your…"

"Haze. I called it the haze."

"About your haze. I want to see how you changed; the mutation." He lifted his hands. "I'm going to have to touch your head. Is that alright?"

She nodded and grabbed his wrists, delicately placing them to her own temples.

"In case I need to yank you off of me," she said grinning.

They shut their eyes as Donna dropped a few mental barriers and found themselves in a plastic, orbiting bubble. The light was double this time. Donna and the Doctor emitted their own golden glows, piercing darkened levels of tattered tomes that flew about on intangible shelves.

"What is this place?" the Doctor asked, reaching for a book on the shelf. He attempted to pull it towards him, but it wouldn't break the plastic barrier. It was a book of poetry from W.B. Yeats. On the back cover a list of anthologized material from _The Tower_, including a poem titled "Sailing to Byzantium."

"Is Byzantium standing out for you as well?" Donna asked.

"Yes, why is that?"

"Certain things in these books… if you read them, sometimes you can supplement their contents. Things that aren't written you know are included; and some pieces we can't read, but are pulled to nonetheless. Doctor, I think this is your life."

"Byzantium…" the Doctor murmured.

"_That is no country for old men. The young / in one another's arms, birds in trees, / —Those dying generations— at their song, / The salmon-falls, the mackerel-crowded seas, / Fish, flesh, or fowl, commend all summer long / Whatever is begotten, born and dies. Caught in that sensual music all neglect / Monuments of unageing intellect._"

"I don't think I even know that," the Doctor said.

"You probably don't; but I had to recite it for a primary school assignment," Donna quipped.

"How many times have you been here?" the Doctor asked.

"Counting now? Four."

"And it's just… a library?"

"That's what I thought at first, too. But now that I know about you, about us…" she was still having a hard time understanding what _us/we_ really meant. "I think it's our consciousness. Well, your consciousness. Your memories, your decisions. Of future and past. Time has to be written before it can be _RE_written. And this is where it all starts." She gestured widely, indicating the shifting volumes. "It's dark because we're not supposed to see everything. And it keeps moving because time is in flux; we both know the difference between flexible and fixed points."

"And you came here three times before? Multiple trips into a shared consciousness. And how long were you here?"

"The first time, barely at all. I materialized and basically blacked out again," Donna said, reaching for a book on Agatha Christie.

"The second time I realized it was a library. I could see the titles, and I walked around a little, but I still didn't make it very far. When I came to, it was hours later. The third time, I think that's when the mutation happened. I had to change gradually, over multiple visits. I'd been in the hospital for three days after that third visit. If I had done it all at once, it probably would have killed me. J.D., he—" Donna paused, catching the Doctor's tired look. She wasn't sure how he felt about his hallucinatory counter-part. "Well… he helped me get here. I guess you really never did stop trying."

"Whenever we thought about each other… when I thought about you, anyway. You shouldn't have known me. But this." He began to communicate telepathically.

_This is why you kept seeing me. It wasn't a hallucination, it was your subconscious. Your subconscious absolutely tearing my defensive mechanisms to shreds._

_You didn't think I'd sit idly by after my adventure through the stars. Surely you know me better than that._ _I'm glad to know that I'd go down fighting, even if I wasn't aware I was fighting in the first place._

Glancing up through relieved lashes, she nudged him gently; a friendly admission. Perhaps normality was gone for good; but moments like these brought them close enough to normal to continue.

"You know I only ever wanted the best life for you," he said.

"It's better to die living than to live dying."

"You are a wise woman, Donna Noble."

"I've been telling you that for _ages_," she said, thumbing through the Christie bio. "Oh, this was wonderful! We should visit the twenties again if… well, when we get the chance," she said casually.

"Yes, that was great fun," he said, staring down at the book from behind her shoulder. He was alarmingly close.

"Do you remember, you were poisoned! And you were all, 'Donna, something's inhibiting my enzymes!' Who says _that_ instead of 'Help! Poison control!'"

"Well, that's what was happening. Poison control could be called for any number of reasons. Besides, it gave me a chance to detox."

"I distinctly remember anchovies and ginger beer."

"I really must do that again," he said, very near her ear.

Ligaments strained and muscles tensed as she fought the urge to tilt her neck for more exposure to his mouth.

"The detox?" she asked breathily.

"No… not the detox."

They opened their eyes and found themselves back on the beach of Felspoon.

**So... this is really the chapter I'd like reviews on. If only because I don't want this to come across as sappy or OOC, which is usually the demise of non 'official' canon writing. Reviews are always appreciated, as is your dedication to this piece. Thank you!**


	12. Just Plain Weird Inevitability

**Disclaimer: This did not start out as romantic, but that's where it ended up. If that's not your cuppa, sorry, but I felt the piece required it. That being said, my 'romantic' writing is absolutely my weakest. I feel much more comfortable in dialogue. I fear I've dived in that abhorrent pool of melodrama, so give me a break. Multi-chapter fics all have one bad egg, right? I'm going to stop with poor justifications and let you read for yourself. Don't own, obviously, as we left our pair in a precarious position on a _beach_ of all places. Enjoy :)**

The Doctor pulled her in, kissing her squarely, lips on lips. A rush of light and heat, an uncontrolled swipe of a tongue, a filling in her empty brain space, like patching a tire or completing a puzzle: the big picture. Finally. A tilted head, brushing noses, and a hand supporting the base of her back as she slid down onto the gritty shore. Sweet friction, and the delightful pressure of heated skin as he skimmed a finger along the hem of her shirt, pressing a palm into the hollow of her naval, fingers millimeters away from a private, privileged area. And worse, or better, or both, as she arched into his torso; breathless and heedless and senseless. But the fullness of the moment balked at history, at everything she once knew. She pushed away sharply.

"What are you doing?" she asked, propping herself on her elbows. "What…" she gasped, and he dove back in, dilated pupils and crafty tongue all at once attacking, as she threw her head back on the beach shore. She whimpered, some twisted, confused ecstasy. She knew there was more, but she also knew this couldn't be it. He didn't want this, surely. She turned her head violently, but his lips found a rounded notch on her neck, the hollow of her clavicle. Shuddering as he sucked, she practically convulsed as she placed her own hand on the base of his hairline, dragging his attentive mouth away from her neck.

"This…" she breathed. "This is… weird. What are we— what are you doing?"

"Isn't it obvious?"

"This… what is this?" Another exhale, twisting her already rumpled shirt as his sand-covered hands migrated north under the garment.

"Unavoidable."

"What are you saying?"

"I think you know," he said, placing his forehead against hers. "You know, _knew_, always have known. You knew even before all this, before your brain changed, before… before you became a part of me."

"Now that's just stupid. 'A part of me.' Somewhere, somewhen, Nicholas Sparks just gagged. What does that even mean? You obviously don't know what you're saying." Rambling. She was rambling. Retaining some notion of lighthearted report was painstakingly difficult when your best friend's body ground against your own. She began to struggle.

"You just feel guilty," she said, pushing him off of her. It hurt. Physically, emotionally, telepathically, for them to be separated.

"I do. I feel guilt. But this…" And again, his mouth on hers, lingering; a hand behind her neck, in her hair, a foreign tear on her cheek. "I could never not know you. Not _feel _you. It's impossible for me now."

"Now?" She said, caution and sheer exertion of will compelling her to distance herself. "It's just because of this," she continued, motioning between their heads. _Because of this_, she thought.

_Never_. _Before, when you were with me, and when I lost you. Do you know how many times I wanted to take you— or how many times I've lost people? Do you know how many times I've had the chance to get them back? How many I even wanted back? Why was I in a meteor shower when you found me in your dream?_

During his mental announcement, his hands rubbed her damp arms, brushed sand from her shirt. Hands in her hair, on her neck, her waist. He was a blind man, attempting to navigate the map of her body through touch alone. Everything he once thought he knew he needed to explore. His mouth on every curve, a hand on every protruding bone. He would not stop touching her; like he needed the physical contact to affirm her presence. He reached for her wrist, the one he'd healed, and threw it over his shoulder, gathering her to him through her slight protests. He uttered a telepathic admission:

_I'd hoped the meteorites would knock me to oblivion. I'd never been there before; curious place, oblivion. Blissful void, a wished-for ending. Something I'll not get to experience. Because there was no POINT without you anymore. I could save worlds and species and histories, but if I couldn't save the people I loved… If I couldn't even see them again… I swore if I ever got the chance…_

"Stop it!" she said, physically removing his roaming hands from her body; as if their fight from earlier had bubbled, resurfaced, and taken new form. His almost possessive physicality, his rapid thoughts, his psychic connection overwhelmingly empathetic. She _felt_ things; a burning exhilaration, squirming against the stimulant. It was nearly as bad as the haze.

"That was never, _never_ how we were before. How I… how you wanted us to be. Mates! We were mates... You never even showed the slightest interest. And now I'm supposed to believe you _want me_? That I'm something more? Why?"

_Because of THIS? _ she screamed in her mind. _Because of what I can do?_

"But don't you realize what you've done?" he asked, moving to hold her again. "You didn't just change passively. It wasn't happenstance; this, mutation, transformation, whatever you call it. You _FOUGHT _me. You broke down every defense I put up for your protection because you knew better. You've always known better. Donna—"

He drug her to him, pushed disheveled, wet red hair out of a confused face and spoke with urgency, with conviction, with a desperation she'd heard on few occasions… if ever.

"You were never afraid of me. You were afraid _for _me. That what I did would corrupt my soul… Or my spirit, or whatever it is that makes me tick. You feared for me in a way that no one else ever has; there was no twisted reverence," he said, almost scoffing. "You... you give as good as you get. You advised me, aided me, cared for me like a— like… like an equal." He held on for dear life, fingers digging into all at once reluctant and pliable skin. "No one's ever treated me that way."

She attempted to twist away, but his arms were a vice. Her back to his front, he shoved his lips in her ear, nuzzling the side or her head, an odd declaration to an unwilling listener.

"You think you know things? You think you're older, that you've accumulated some wisdom over your decades on earth; that you've made enough mistakes to know when to remedy them? Well so have I! And if I've learned one thing in a millennium's worth of life, it's that second chances are like an exploding sun. They happen once in million, or a hundred-thousand-million years. And if you get the opportunity for another one, another chance, then you have to take it while it's staring you in the face, or, in the next instant, your sun will be gone… And so will your entire world. Because what world can survive without the sun?"

Looking out over the lake, she tilted her head as his fingers brushed the collar of her shirt aside, lips, teeth and tongue mounting an offensive against the open area of her collarbone. She wanted this… and she could feel it, in her mind, in _his _mind, a passion so powerful she'd not thought it possible, let alone probable; but passion fueled by a superior emotion, affection, which was what their relationship was founded on. A strong affection, spiraling into heady desire: desired knowledge, desired reciprocity from an equal, a partner. And she was his only equal in the universe. She wanted to requite him, to encourage him, to move that hand that had remained so tame, so respectful, to places reserved for lovers… yet she hesitated. More for his sake than for her own.

"I can't promise to be there for you forever," she whispered. "You know better. Realistically, how am I supposed to live up to that?"

"You've already lived through the worst," he said, lids shut and voice sharp. "But Donna, I know it's not just me."

She had stopped struggling, rotating to confront his most recent assertion.

"That's pretty presumptuous of you," she said, though her intended sarcastic tonality faltered into some combination of choking and gurgling, as his hands moved along her waistband, pulling her into him like the waves that had pressed them together.

"No… I know, I do. Because you suffered. Another thing I've figured out, over the years," he buried his hand in her locks, murmuring some twisted confession against her lips. "It's that suffering is not an absence of love. It's a symptom of it. You wouldn't suffer for something you didn't love. And what's worse for you; it was deep. It _was_ our connection. You saw me because you wanted me… And I wanted you. _Desperately._ Donna, you suffered without knowing the source, without knowing it was me, us. You had everything a normal human could have desired to be happy, but your head or your heart or your gut or… I don't know. You knew, somewhere, despite my trying, that whatever you loved wasn't around. So you fought, and you suffered; and you came back to me."

They stood on their own private beach, purples and blues and aquas swimming beyond in the mountains of Felspoon, reflected in the lazy water of the lake; they rocked with the waves and the mountains, shaking from apprehension… or anticipation. Everything building: friendly sparring in Pompeii; prophesies in the Ood Sphere; a release in 1920s England; and ultimately, the absolute sacrifice for the other in an alternate reality, a complete transformation in the biologies to prepare for this moment… It was all building to this, to a joining beyond human control. Thankfully, neither was completely human.

"Doctor," she breathed, anxiety and self-consciousness laid bare behind noncompliant mental barriers. "I… I'm afraid I don't know how to… respond to this. It was all too fantastic when you first asked me to go away. When I turned you down, thought you were flat bonkers. But then, I fell down the rabbit hole. You have to know," she said, with the tiniest hint of defiant cheek. "I would have followed you anywhere. And you just kept, showing up… How could you ever, you silly Martian?" she asked, chuckling in disbelief. "Out of everyone in the universe, how did you, how could you… pick me?"

"Donna Noble…" He smiled, his genuine, I've-just-discovered-something-brilliant smile. "How could I not?"

She raised a hand over her radiant face and playfully nudged his shoulder, though exhaustion and compliance asserted themselves on her fatigued body. Tentatively, she fingered the edges of his shirt. She removed his jacket, if only to feel the wiry muscles of his arms underneath thinner fabric. Though she ached, wanted to, driven to desire by plain giddiness, she went no further.

"Donna I… I think I love you," he said. He wouldn't stop smiling.

"What?"

"No… I think it was always meant to be this way." _It was always meant to be this way._

"You can't know that!" Donna returned, brushing off the comment like any other outrageous idea he ever had.

"Then why do you keep coming back?"

"Did you not see what's happened to me over the past few months?" Her tone was still light, but the entire, mad situation warranted her incredulity. "That everywhere I turn, things that are far too bizarre to believe confront me when I'm at my weakest? My most exposed? It's not fair to keep putting me in these positions!"

"I can think of a number of positions—"

"Doctor," she held up a hand. Too far. If he went down that road, he had better be prepared for the ride. Pun certainly not intended. She had to know. "How can I ever tell the difference between what's real and what's not?"

He grabbed her, aggressive, and tilted her head back. If this hadn't of been one of the most important moments in her life, she would have felt like a 40s film star heroine.

"Donna, it's me. This doesn't change anything. It only accelerates what we both know was already there."

Another kiss; with wandering hands and heated bodies and a mental connection, transcendent and powerful, coursing energy from a dying sun. He led her over to a large rock on the shore, and he sat. Maneuvering her around his legs, he began to unbutton the bottom-most button of her blouse. He cast a mischievous eye and a pert grin to her above him as she looked on, intrigued at his almost sacred handling of her clothing. She straddled him as he sat on the rock, the waves of the Felspoon lake battering their ankles, the plastic button tortuously teasing her skin for further exposure. She wanted to be bare to him, but only if he wanted it as well; if he wanted her exposure out of genuine affection, not passion.

She'd be the first to admit, they were both passionate beings. She _was _ginger, after all. And he was… well, exuberant. But affection suggested a fondness founded on friendship: something solid. Passion could, did fade. Her meandering thoughts resulted in a prolonged interaction of lips and saliva as she hitched her thigh about his waist, his hand finally making the treacherous journey to her breast. What was more was their telepathic connection: a dizziness so compelling she almost cried out, yet the human uncertainty kept her from completely succumbing to satisfied delight.

"How could this not be real?" he asked.

"Because I've imagined you… this, countless times over the past few months and it never was before." It came out as a whisper, her turn to confess; she'd always said more than was required. "I swore I'd never cheat…" she thought back; she had once been a married woman. To a good man, but a man who couldn't understand. Because he was just that: a man. But the Doctor. This being, holding her, revering her, gleeful to just be near her; more than man yet less than god, but only just. "But how could I ever, no matter what happened to my mind… How could I ever forget you?" she asked, grinning uncontrollably.

No woman, no human, had ever experienced this connection; his head tucked into her chest, her fingers clutching his hair. When their movements on the rock began to mirror the rocking action of the waves, he surfaced.

The Doctor stood, supporting her clenching thighs and resultant body mass about his waist; a strength she would never have wagered he'd possessed. She clambered off of his torso, though the missing contact sent icicles through her blood stream. Grabbing her hand, off for their next adventure; he pulled her towards the forest, back where he'd parked the TARDIS.

"Let me show you that you're real. That I'm real. That we are more than something on its last leg. We deserve this chance," he continued, leading her merrily over the shore. "And if the universe sees fit to give it to us, who am I not to take it?"

She paused and gave him a reassuring smile. But she wanted to be clear.

"You always have a choice," Donna said, still hesitant.

"You're right. And every time, I choose you."

That gave her serious pause, returning her to her snarky self; a self still susceptible to a disorienting high provided by bodily contact.

"You shouldn't. You'd make some really stupid decisions if you chose me every time."

"Well, right now… right here. I'm choosing my best friend over every world I've ever seen. Come on."

"We have to get back to Earth," she protested, giving him one last chance to back out, to wipe this incident from history. "The other species will be there soon. You said by midnight."

"Midnight is hours away in the timeline. With two pilots, we'll land exactly when we're needed," he said, holding out his hand expectantly. "Let's go, Earth Girl."

He led her over the beach, through a field of wildflowers, beyond the forest and into the TARDIS; but the ship stayed there, parked in an alien wood for several hours until the darkness came. What transpired in the holds of the TARDIS is only privy to two Time Lords; for never have the last two of a species shared an intimacy the way Donna and the Doctor did. Never did two subjectivities meld so completely into each other that they could not distinguish personal ending from the other's genesis. Sustained by amusement, laughter, pure fondness for the other, as touches and whispers escalated to clutches and gasps; when Donna kissed a tendon there, or the Doctor placed a hand in that space, on that searing skin. If time is a man, and space a woman, then subject and object were indistinct. A habitual longing for physical contact finally complete, the pair lounged in their discovery, with mental conversations and physical reciprocations. Until they both came to the same, inexorable conclusion: they loved each other.

**Ugh... Sorry. This could have been better. Leave a review, help me improve. I promise, some actual resolution is coming. Don't quit on me just yet!**


	13. Back in Black

**A HUGE thank you to all who reviewed or pm'd me concerning that last chapter. I appreciate critique in any form; you always put work out there in hopes of improving. Once again, continuing with the story. Shorter chapter, but we're setting up for some big things. Such as, the possible destruction of Earth. You know, same old same old. Don't own, never will, no matter how many wishes one makes. Enjoy :D**

"Are you ready?" she asked, tucking an arm into her jacket sleeve. The Doctor was bent over the side of her bed in the TARDIS; she assumed tying his sneakers.

"Always," he said, head popping up, hair even more unkempt than usual. She'd never tell _him_, but it suited. "Running to the console room, I want to reinstall the tribophysical waveform macro-kinetic extrapolator, right-side-up this time. We still have an hour before the Cartegs make contact. Seems they're furthest in the vortex. You can come help, if you'd like?"

"I'm coming, I'll just be a minute," Donna said.

He smiled and ducked shyly into the hallway.

Donna surveyed her room; nothing had changed. Her massive box from the Planet of the Hats was still stashed away in a corner. The tea set from the markets at Shan Shen sat precariously on a side table in the corner, over a doily she'd been given by Tsarista Irina Godunova. She crossed to her vanity and picked up a hairbrush, struggling with the tangles the Doctor had created with his traveling hands. Stuck in the corner of the mirror was an old photograph, taken on an instant Polaroid from 1960. She and the Doctor, dressed in black tie apparel, laughed as they danced, staring wide-eyed as JFK and Jacqueline Kennedy passed them at the inaugural ball. Donna had confiscated the picture, her justification being that it would be catastrophic if she ended up in some historical record somewhere. It was her favorite; because as she was staring at the First Couple, the Doctor was staring at her.

She opened her drawer to put her hairbrush away, only to find the fob watch resting neatly in a plush case, covered in red material. She looked back to her bedside table; the open watch clicked quietly under her lamp. Removing it from its case, she sat on her bed and compared the two pieces. They had to be the same. The intricately scripted 'D', the silver chain, even the custom-made latch on the exterior was identical. Donna was starting to put pieces together. But this wasn't like a puzzle you did with your Gran on a Sunday afternoon. This was reconstructive surgery, painstakingly assembling a shattered femur after it's been splintered and cracked. You hope in the end you end up with something resembling a bone, or you'll never walk again. This could change everything.

She placed the open watch back on her bedside table. The unopened one from her vanity went deep into her pocket. Before leaving her room, she grabbed a pen and scrawled some numbers across a Post-it, sticking it in the center of her mirror. She walked into the console room and began rotating the knob that would take them back to earth. She did not tell the Doctor.

* * *

"So, should we even attempt to _not_ park in the middle of the city?" Donna asked, stepping into a back alley way in London city centre. It was nearing on eleven p.m.; nocturnal sounds of the city escalated as they made their way around a corner, eyeing passers-by with more caution than usually exercised.

"I mean, it might not do much good," Donna continued, "but it would certainly freak a lot less people out if a spaceship was hovering over a country field as opposed to one of the largest metropolitan areas on the planet."

"I don't think it's going to matter. Besides, not much to work with in a field."

They passed onto the Thames river walk, the Eye of London looming, bright and imposing over the city.

"It wouldn't be as dangerous for other people, though."

"It's not going to be dangerous."

She quirked an eyebrow, giving him her best 'oh silly Spaceman' look.

"We're jumping to conclusions anyway," he said, trying to remedy the situation. "We don't know that the various alien species are going to resort to any sort of violence. Besides, we'll see them coming from a mile aw—"

"STAND AGAINST THE WALL WITH YOUR HANDS OVER YOUR HEAD!"

"Oh, you have got to be kidding me," Donna grumbled.

The Doctor commiserated. "Humans, on the other hand…"

A parade of black-clothed operatives closed in on the pair, literally forcing them against the not-at-all-sanitary, graffiti covered building to the Doctor and Donna's immediate right.

"Why are there always guns?" the Doctor said, surveying the human task force with the utmost contempt. "It's people like this that make me wonder why I care for your race so much," he mumbled to Donna.

"Yeah, but it's people like me that kinda make up for the rest of the blockheads."

"DONNA NOBLE?" A male voice hidden behind a bulletproof visor boomed, amplified by an imposing bullhorn. "PLEASE STEP FORWARD!"

"Turn that thing off, you'll wake the whole city!" she yelled back.

The bullhorn man descended from the top of an unmarked van by sliding down the windshield; heavy army boots stomped as he strode over to the pair.

"I see you're feeling better today," he said to Donna.

Something was off. She knew that voice. "Yeah, well, what's it to you, anyway?" Donna sneered.

The man removed his helmeted visor.

"Dr. Kerry?"

"My favorite patient. Well, not so much anymore."

"But you… I… you wear tweed suits for Pete's sake!"

"Yeah; that's more of a part-time gig, the therapy business. I'm far too young to be cooped up in an office, talking to whack jobs all day."

"Watch it," she said, advancing toward him.

"Ah-ah-ah," he chastised, and raised a hand. She suddenly heard a chorus of cocked assault rifles. She stopped mid-step.

"What organization are you with?" the Doctor asked menacingly.

Donna turned her head abruptly. No witty banter, no cleverly veiled insults about over-compensating, just right to the point. He was mad and she was scared because she didn't want him to be mad at humans; even if they were threatening her at gunpoint.

"What do you want with Donna?" he asked again.

"Doctor, really? You don't think the people who run this planet wouldn't keep tabs on our greatest asset?" Dr. Kerry said, giving a nod in Donna's direction. "Torchwood may be gone, but the files aren't. What she did last year? After the Dalek assault? We've got it on record. No way in hell the… well, the _right_ people wouldn't know exactly what she's done every day of her life since the stolen planets episode. When she sneezed, what she ate… What prescriptions she was taking?" he said teasingly, possessing the audacity to wink at Donna.

"The medication…" Donna said. "What did you give me?!"

"Nothing that you didn't need. As I said, you are an asset. We couldn't very well use damaged goods."

"Who the hell is this _we_, and why don't they have the balls to talk to me themselves?" Donna yelled, marching towards Dr. Kerry. "No offense _Dr. Kerry_," she said contemptuously. "But boots-on-the-ground does not imply leadership. You're no more than a lackey, so how about putting me in touch with someone with some actual authority so I can rip them a new one, too."

Dr. Kerry's face hardened, but with another hand motion, the surrounding soldiers lowered their weapons. The Doctor took a step forward.

"We don't have time for this. You don't know it yet, but there are other species, a vanguard of multiple alien races, coming here, for her, and they're going to want to bargain for her. We don't need to be out here in the open when that happens!"

"Couldn't agree more, Doctor," Dr. Kerry said. And with that, he yanked Donna's wrist toward him and thrust a taser-like object into her neck, injecting her with some sort of fast-acting chemical. Before she passed out, the Doctor felt a swell of pride as Donna spit into the man's eye.

The Doctor shuffled forward, but the guns returned to their offensive positions.

"Now, now, Doctor," Dr. Kerry said, wiping his face. "We know all about you, too. And, as you'll probably cause more trouble if you're not with us, you'll be escorted to headquarters as well. Just can't have you two together."

The Doctor felt the barrel of a gun stuck between his shoulder blades, shoulder blades still sensitive from Donna's finger nails…

"What did you do to her?!" he shouted at Kerry. "Who are you and _what _did you do to her?!"

"Don't worry Doctor," Kerry said, as he passed Donna's limp form off to a pair of men in black. "Donna and I go way back." The men hefted Donna into the unmarked van and drove off to the west.

"You see, when you left her," Dr. Kerry continued, "I sort of... took care of her." He smiled ruefully and slapped a hand on the Doctor's shoulder, causing the gun to jab into his back further. "Just between you and me, that woman has some problems."

"Just between you and me, so will you when she wakes up."

"Ha, look, Doctor," he said, starting to walk down the street as another unmarked van pulled up. The Doctor followed, prodded by the weapon at his back.

"I've seen Donna at her worst. To put it plainly, we know exactly what to give her to keep her under control. Subdued, if you will. Remember, I was her 'doctor' for almost five months. Why do you think we kept changing her regimen? We had to know what drugs affected her, so when we needed to use her, we could control her."

The Doctor fumed silently, clambering into the van more out of a desire to see Donna than to continue listening to this man's sick replay of her depression.

"You're no better than the species coming here," the Doctor said. "You want to use her; for what?"

"Why does anybody want to use anything? Power. And with her, the universe is going to know we've got it. Aliens are coming for her? Good. We're counting on that." Kerry turned to the left, pressing a communication device against his ear. "Make that expecting. We've just gotten confirmation that two crafts have breached the established atmospheric perimeter."

The van vaulted into drive, the Doctor unable to determine his location due to the blacked out windows and circuitous route along London back roads and alleyways.

"I'm going to say this once, Kerry, if that's your name," the Doctor said. "I've seen Donna at her best. I know exactly what makes her _lose_ control, and I was her Doctor long before you ever were. So I'm giving you this chance, right now, to end whatever it is you're doing. But know this," he said, staring pointedly at the man who had pumped Donna full of sedatives and hallucinogens for months. "If you hurt her, you will not like what I do to you."

**Reviews appreciated :)**


	14. Shattered Mediation

**So, you know how in stories thing happen? Well, this is a story... and things, they're happening. I'd said I'd hoped to finish by the end of February, but, unless I acquire a TARDIS, doesn't look like that's going to happen. As you can probably tell, we_ are_ on the downhill slope. Just don't know exactly how far up I was to begin with... Anyway, thanks again for feedback, and I will never own this awesome whoniverse. Enjoy! **

Donna Noble was hung over. She had to be, what with that awful kick-drum pounding in her head and the nauseated feeling in her core. She also felt a little dizzy; she tried to focus, but her head swung down and hit her chest. Coherence returning, she strained against something hard on her hands, some sort of… cuff? Oh god, not again. She couldn't feel her fingers or her forearms from circulation loss. If this was the Doctor's idea, she was gonna…

No, that was wrong. She was hanging upright, her arms suspended diagonally toward the open air in a sterile glass box as she kneeled on the floor. Blinking rapidly, Donna shook her head and watched as men and women in black uniforms paced about a giant facility, nearly as large if not larger than the Sontaran's warehouse. And speaking of Sontarans, she looked left as a Sontaran soldier resisted what looked like electric torture: the alien asked a series of questions and then prodded with a long, jolting stick after each unsatisfactory answer. Donna watched as the Sontaran's face twitched and contorted with every jab, but he didn't scream. Didn't even whimper. Merely convulsed as he turned his head toward Donna. If she hadn't felt helpless before, she certainly did now: they'd captured Strix.

She saw an electronic door across the facility slide open, Dr. Kerry escorting the Doctor and his armed guard up to another level and behind a secure door. The men entered and emerged three minutes later, sans Doctor. Kerry looked out over the facility, smiling ruefully when he noticed Donna had regained consciousness. He barked at a subordinate, and the little woman in her black skirt and sensible shoes made her way down the open flight of stairs and into a hallway with keycard and retina scan access. Donna looked at the cuffs on her hands. Damn. This would be like breaking out of Alcatraz.

"Once again," a muscley blonde man with atrocious frost tips yelled at Strix, "Where is your base?"

"My name is Strix, Captain of the 19th ground Sontaran division, special operations task force. My identification is 0947578."

"Not what I asked, stupid invader." The henchman jammed the business end of the rod into Strix's abdomen, causing more convulsions and a sheen of sweat to form over the Sontaran's ample forehead.

"Hey! Oi, you!" Donna shouted. "Stop it! How bout you make it a fair fight, huh? See what happens then?"

The muscley man gave her a passing glance, then shoved the rod into Strix again. He twisted it against the Sontaran's leg; Donna's anger boiled when she saw Strix's toes start to twitch.

"SONOFABI—"

"Beautiful night, wouldn't you say, Miss Noble?" An elderly gentleman with a cane materialized in front of her glass box, flanked by Dr. Kerry on his left, and a mousy looking woman with a clipboard on his right.

"I wouldn't know, sir," she said with sarcasm. "Got abducted off the street before I could walk about and enjoy it."

"That could have gone better, I'll admit. But, when you have a radar specifically attuned to time manipulation signatures, you tend to end up where time travelers land. Can't help it if you don't enjoy the scenery while you can. Make every moment count."

The gentleman was on the shorter side, cloud-grey hair thinning, the comb over and blunt mustache doing nothing for his sickly face. He was not frail, though, and his crisp suit implied nothing but authority and efficiency. He was like every boss Donna ever hated, except with a pretentious walking stick and an army at his disposal.

"But you shouldn't worry yourself with things like that," the man said, indicating Strix. Frost-tips McGee and a few other black-clad workers were releasing the unconscious Strix from his own restraints. They hefted the alien down onto a stretcher-like transporter, and placed him in one of the glass boxes to Donna's left.

"He's not a thing," Donna said. "He's a captain in the universe's most elite army, and you've probably just pissed off his entire race. They'll be here looking for him in no time."

"Oh, I count on it," the man said. "You see, it's things like this," he said, tapping on Strix's glass-walled cage with that idiotic cane, "That we need you for."

"I'm sorry, but I'm a little busy trying to stop a full-scale planetary invasion. So if you'd be so kind as to release me from this stupid little side-show box, I promise not to sock you in the jaw on my way out."

"Oh, ho-ho-ho! You weren't kidding, Kerry!" the man laughed.

"No sir."

"She is feisty off of the medication."

"As we've discussed, sir," Kerry said.

"Who are you?" Donna asked. "What do you want with me?"

"Ah, yes, so rude of me," the man said, leaning back against a modern desk. He placed his cane against his gimp leg. "Edmund Cornelius Duncan, Jr. But most people call me Ed."

"I bet you were bullied a lot as a child," Donna said.

Ignoring her comment, Ed pulled a file out of the desk he was sitting on and began flipping pages.

"You see, Miss Noble, I've always been very proud of who I am. Proud to live where I do, in such a wonderful country, on such a wonderful planet. So imagine my surprise when _other_ species want to come to my— our planet as well! And me, being such a proud human, I don't think that's quite acceptable."

"You don't think it's okay for aliens to come to earth? Even if they mean no harm?"

"But that's just it! It starts off that way; aliens, making contact, peaceful. But what happens when Daleks suddenly need to use the planet to destroy all of space and time? Or the Racnoss wants to repopulate the Earth with her terrifying spider mutants? I believe you might agree with me on that one…" he trailed off, turning to another page. "Or when Slitheen come in and take over the Prime Minister's residence? I'm sorry, but it's too risky. We've got to stop this. Until such a time as we, the Mediators, can fight back, we have to use what weapons we have at our disposal. Which, my dear, brings us to you."

"Look, I'm no weapon," Donna said, suddenly worried that these 'Mediators' knew more than they should. "I mean, in sixth year Bobby Snipes called me a 'bombshell', but I really think he was trying to get on my good side—"

"Miss Noble," Ed said. "We know that you are no longer human. We've been monitoring your whereabouts for the past year. Do you honestly think we didn't jump at the opportunity to analyze your blood and scans after your incident in the grave yard the other day? That all we needed was your psychiatrist," he patted Dr. Kerry on the shoulder. "To issue an immediate request for your records? It's really far too easy," Ed continued.

_Doctor… Doctor…_

_Here, Donna._

_Are you getting all of this?_

_Of course! Just waiting to make my grand entrance._

_Grand— wait, where are you? _

_Silly humans, they never search me. Soniced out of that little room nearly ten minutes ago. I'm just keeping back until we know a bit more. Can you keep him talking?_

"So I'm not human, and you've got a grudge against me now?" Donna asked. "Don't I have like, asylum or something? I mean, I was a human before I was anything else. You can't lock me up just because I had some medical emergency."

"A seizure is a medical emergency. Anaphylactic shock, lacerations, a need for open-heart surgery, _those_ are medical emergencies. You however, are a marvel. We, as Mediators between the universe and the human race, need all the marvels we can acquire to stop this onslaught of alien contact. Soon, they'll be trying to live here. To assimilate into _our_ culture. What's next? Inter-species breeding?" The man sneered, derision and disgust and distemperment all evident in one facial expression. "_We_ are the ones that the universe should look to. To be aspired to. Therefore, we need a little… deterrent. So other life forms take us seriously. We know we're sort of far behind on the technological aspect of things, but now… let's just say you've given us both means and opportunity."

"None of this makes any sense!" Donna yelled, shaking her restraints.

"Miss Noble, how many species would you say are coming to Earth right now, to look for you? We already know the Sontarans are here. There must be more. Mud slides in the East End? Really? I've told you from the start," he said, placing the file back on top of the desk and ambling over to the glass box, leaning heavily on the straight black cane. "We've been keeping tabs on you. You forgot what you did with the Daleks, but we didn't. We've been monitoring you, and everything about you. Here… and out there," he said, gesturing toward space. "You're the talk of the town! The country, the universe! It was only a matter of time before they came looking for you. And now that they are, we're ready for them. Cause we've got the one thing that they want."

"A twisted sense of Nazi-like elitism?"

"Ha! Elitism, sure. We'll call it that. But we have you. And they want you. But here's our little secret, Donna… we can _use_ you."

Ed tapped his cane against the ground three times. Suddenly, hydraulic powered hinges opened an immense door opposite Donna's glass box. More black-clothed Mediators began slowly wheeling in a large metal contraption, complete with massive switch boards, a curious silver arch, and two strange metal posts, shoulder width apart on the raised center platform.

"What is that?" Donna asked, unable to hide her fascination.

"That, my dear, is what we're going to use to rule the universe. And that right there," he said, pointing toward the raised platform with his cane, "is going to be your spot, Miss Noble. So if we're the rulers, that can be your throne. It sort of makes you our queen," he continued, tone sardonic. "Donna Noble. Queen of the Universe."

* * *

_Okay, I'm going to need you to distract this whack job_, Donna thought.

_What are you going to do?_

_I've got to get Strix out of here. I think… I think there's something going on with the time line._

_How do you know that?_

_I don't. I mean, I do. It's just a feeling. _The watch was still deep in her pocket. The Doctor was right; they should have been at least searched prior to their capture. Then again, the Doctor never traveled with weapons, and if the Mediators did as much research as they claimed, they would know that about him. No need to do any sort of search, she supposed, for an enemy who wasn't packing like Clint Eastwood or a Sontaran.

_Maybe you should get me out of here first,_ she thought. _It would be better if we had two people to destroy a top-secret alien fighting facility, wouldn't you say?_

_You may have a point. I'll just be down in a jiff. _

_Don't do anything too ridiculous._

_Me? Ridiculous? I have this lovely idea that involves a monkey and the color purple, the actual color, not the film, but requires—_

_Just get down here!_

"Hey! Strix!" Donna yelled. A few eyes turned her way. Even Ed and Dr. Kerry about-faced from the other side of the room, where they were hunched over computer monitors, no doubt tracking the position of arriving alien fleets.

"Strix! Captain! Wake up, 0947578!" Grunting was never a particularly attractive sound for humans. Or for animals, really. But that's what a Sontaran language sounded like to those who didn't speak Sontaran. Lucky for Donna, she kinda… well, did. To the Mediators, she might have been struggling against her restraints, which she was; though accompanied by a series of pitchy grunts and staccato rhythms that might have sounded a bit like labor pains. Didn't much matter what she sounded like as long as she could awaken her fellow captive.

"Oi! Captain, you've got to wake up! There's no way I can drag you out of that box by my lonesome."

"I seem to vaguely remember being dragged into a coral-covered room, human. After I was cowardly attacked from behind," Strix gasped in his own language.

"That? That was nothing," Donna grunted, now practically drawing a crowd about her shiny glass box. Thankfully, Strix was still weak enough that his reply went unnoticed by the rest of the Mediator command post.

Dr. Kerry was eyeing her carefully from across the room.

"Sir, should we—"

"It's alright Jimmy," Ed said. "She can't do anything."

"Strix, listen," Donna said. "Just remain quiet, or they'll figure out we're communicating. We're going to get you out of here. I don't know how, exactly, just yet, but the Doctor and I both need to stop whatever it is that they're doing here. You need to get back to your fleet and warn the Commander, the humans are planning some sort of attack. They're drawing you all in with me. They've been following me, planning for this moment. They knew, like you did, about how I changed during the Dalek assault. They're using me as bait, and then they're going to… I don't know. But it's not good, Strix. And you need to warn the others. You're the only link."

_The only link._ A recurring theme. For some reason he keeps cropping up. And Donna, part Time Lord, part human, fallible enough to believe in coincidence, yet genetically advanced enough to discount the superfluous probability, had a revelation. The swirling gold of the vortex swamped her vision, and she saw as the Doctor saw: a tiny man, watching her from behind a tree in the park on her way to get groceries; another unknown, calling the hospital, and dropping a fob watch; an identical vortex manipulator, stashed away in the TARDIS. _What had yet to happen in the past._

Coming down from her heady rush of golden swirl, Donna noticed the crowded faces pressed against her glass box. Her minor performance of guttural sounds combined with erect bodily tension and perceptible time energy garnered a small, gaping audience. What if _she_ was the distraction?

Donna rose from her stiff knees, pulling at the restraints with sore muscles. If they wanted a show…

_Doctor? Can you get Strix out of here while I distract the room?_

She was met with silence.

_Doctor? Doctor, earth to Space Man?  
_

_Yes, here, sorry Donna._

_Did you not just here me?_

_Yes, I… I did. But what was that? You looked like... like you were, floating or something.  
_

_I had a moment. And I'm about to fake another one; a bit bigger this time. I need you to get Strix free, but I also need to talk to him before he goes. He has to warn the other species about whatever that thing is. Even if they use me as a weapon, I'll be ineffective if I have no target. Do it now, while I still have their attention. Doctor, do you understand? Doctor?_

_What? Yes… I've got it. Um, when you say, 'had a moment,' do you—_

_Not like THAT!_

_Right, yes… I'm just going to um, release the Sontaran._

Donna knew she was going to have to do something good for the rest of the command center to leave their stations. Kerry and Ed were observing from across the room, but she needed to draw them around her box. So she experimented with a few alien languages, blending them together. Drawing on languages with many resonant sounds and few harsh consonants, she created her own hypnotic tongue, singing absurdities to bring in the crowd. Who knew that 'paper plated mackerel formulations' sounded so pretty in hrybridized Pooideation? She may have been the bearded lady at the sideshow, but the idiots were still willing to pay the price: they moved in closer.

But every show needs a big finish, and emitting stored time energy was just such a showstopper. Donna concentrated, intent and determined, trying to tap into that odd sensation that produced a golden sheen running from her tear ducts to the little creases on the sides of her eyes. She realized that it was a blank stare that she acquired, eerie, as if possessed, which had its draw for a collective organization so focused on species purity. Anything foreign was brutish; and she was an animal, on display in an enclosure. Her language had been wild, her manipulation of foreign energy manic, which prompted a sickening interest in the people who chose to place their faith in a man who believed human exceptionalism was the end-all in a universe with thousands of species. While controlling that energy, she caught glimpses, fragments of futures. Many possible futures, with many adventures, and many special moments from those futures. Orchestrating the equivalent of a mini-supernova of time energy in her glass case, she focused on one of her possible future adventures with the Doctor. Sprinting, adrenaline... _joy_. Something like a wave of time energy passed through her as she watched events play out, shaking the glass box and overheating her body as the walls of her prison began to fog quickly.

"What is she doing?" Ed asked, from the back of the gathered crowd. "Move back! Get back I said!"

He had been consigned to the perimeter, literally every operative in black coming to see Donna.

She could only make out shadows on the outside of the box, figures moving and mumbling as Ed yelled for them to step aside. She'd hoped her little show had allowed enough time for the Doctor to Houdini Strix out of the other box. Meanwhile, she was about to pass out. It had never taken that much energy, nor had it ever been this hot. Heat made the air thick, the glass walls nearly steaming. She was having trouble breathing in the thickness.

"What is it that you've done now, Miss Noble?" Ed said, banging the butt of his cane against the heated glass. He stopped when a tiny crack formed. "Think you can get out of there with a little magic trick, eh?"

"I don't think that's the case, no," the Doctor said, suddenly appearing on the metallic banister leading to the second floor.

Every head that once focused on Donna turned one hundred and eighty degrees, and the scramble back to their positions began.

"You know, slight-of-hand is all about misdirection," the Doctor continued. He walked up the stairs slowly. "Because you were so focused on door number one, you didn't much bother with door number two."

Another shift of attention, as Ed, Kerry, and frost-tips muscle man realized they were one captive short.

"Now, I'm not one to get into petty competition. Donna's been brilliant, really. In fact, she's become quite the little scientist over the past couple of days. And I do _love_ science. So let's try an experiment. What happens to really hot glass when something cold hits it? Anyone? Care to hazard a guess? No?"

And the sonic resurfaces.

"Heat and cold are extremes. Equilibrium cannot be maintained in extremes. So it destabilizes. It cracks. And then," he blasted the sonic at the nearest fire sprinkler, setting off the entire system. "It shatters."

As cold water poured down onto the control room, Mediators bounded between desks and around computers, saving files and hard drives. Water drenched Donna's glass prison, schisms and breaks fracturing the box at its joints and around its foundation. It didn't help that the Doctor had also plunged the main area into darkness with another whir of the screwdriver. As people shouted into intercoms and ran by with beams from flickering flashlights, the crash of a collapsing glass prison caused an enraged Edmund Cornelius Duncan, Jr. to start swinging wildly with his cane.

**This story has more control over itself than I do! Don't hate me for it... As always, reviews appreciated, and a million thank yous for sticking with me this far!**


	15. The Sontaran Assignment

**I'm a bit farther ahead in this than I thought; which means, an update on a Monday! Suddenly being assaulted by plot ideas for one-shots and shorter fics, but I promise to finish this with *hopefully* the detail it deserves before I set fingers to keys on another story. Davies, Moffat, BBC, they own this. Not me. I'll just borrow it until I have something equally as awesome. Which is basically never. More's the pity... But for now, ENJOY :D**

**Caution: Timey-whimy chapter ahead.**

It really was only a matter of time. She was surprised that it had taken as long as it had… it's a good thing she didn't have a lot to do over the past few months; she had prepared, sort of. Or maybe her subconscious knew that if the Doctor ever did come back, she'd need to be ready. Ready for the pounding rush in her head. Ready for the labored breath, for the adrenaline burst. Ready for the slipping, and cutting, and abrupt increases in speed. And here it was: the running. Seriously, there was a ridiculous amount of running involved with him.

The good thing about this time, though, was that she wasn't also dodging fireballs, or trying to navigate treacherous terrain, or being chased by some large, exotic alien animal. She was being chased, technically, but if she broke out her old chart on running, which ranked the degrees of being chased, then being chased by disoriented humans who didn't want to kill her certainly ranked lower than being chased by, say, a famished Jabberwock, with ultra-acute senses and a hankering for human flesh. She had berated the Doctor mercilessly after that marathon, insisting against his protests that Jabberwocks weren't _real_, and why in the name of all that was good in the universe would he take her to the planet where Lewis Carroll had apparently originated from, which led to another argument, well, discussion, in which he listed the authors who happened to be off-worlders; but she left him abruptly when he insisted Shakespeare had taken his Macbethian weird sisters from Carrionites. That was bordering on the absurd, even for him. But that was before she had access to his memories, to his knowledge. And she begrudged him only slightly for inspiring the bard, and being right about it despite her vehement protests.

She was able to let this entire thought process unfold (blame it on that partial Time Lord consciousness) as she ran down a hallway of the Mediator complex with the Doctor, emergency flood lights swirling every hundred feet or so.

"Where's Strix?" Donna panted.

"Sharp left," he said, turning down another corridor. "Coming up!" he yelled, indicating a side room amongst many other doorways, relatively normal looking doorways that led to relatively normal looking offices.

He grabbed her hand and pulled her into the dark, cramped closet, and his hands started fumbling over her body.

"Doctor, I hardly think this is the time—"

"I'm looking for the light switch!" he said defensively.

"You cut the power, dumbo!"

"Yes, right."

"Then you could probably remove your randy little hands."

A small green light appeared in the corner, illuminating a disgruntled face that resembled a large, miffed peanut.

"Is there any reason that you have requested my further presence here, or might I be released and spared this awkward human interaction?" Strix asked, clicking gauntleted armor into place. Somehow, the Doctor had managed to return all of the Sontaran's war gear, including that blasted laser beam gun/flame thrower that Donna had been so wary of at their first meeting.

"While everyone's in a frenzy, I'm going to go have a looksie at their computer system. See if they have anything they shouldn't, bit of jiggery-pokery, you know, the usual." The Doctor reached for the doorknob.

"Wait," Donna said. "Should you be leaving? I don't know if we should split up."

"The mainframe is two doors down."

"But they've got operatives running around all over the place!"

"You said so yourself, I cut the power. They can't trace us with cameras. I'll be back in two tocks. I should know, Lord of Time and all."

He quickly exited the door.

"Strix, look, we need you to—"

"Wait a second!" the Doctor said, flailing back into the tiny room. He grabbed the Sontaran's shoulders and pulled him close. "Whoops, wrong one." Reaching for Donna, he planted a playful smack on her mouth. "I forgot I can do that now! Back in a flash!"

And he disappeared again.

"Are you currently partaking in a courting ritual?" Strix asked.

"Eh… no. He's just insane."

"Our intel has confirmed that statement."

"Crazy doctors aside, you have to warn the Sontarans."

"Warn them? They are marching towards this facility as we speak, coming to avenge the capture of one of their brethren!"

"Are you sure they aren't coming here just to kidnap me again?"

"The battle code of the Sontaran states— actually, no, they could very well be coming to acquire you," he said bluntly. "There has already been a small skirmish between the Sontaran ships and the Slytheen vessel. As more species arrive, incidents may escalate. General Korglaz is even more set on your acquisition due to the exterior interference."

"That's just it!" Donna said. "_You_ Strix, you have to warn the squadron! They _want_ you to come here. These humans, the ones who captured you… wait, how did you get captured anyway?"

"After your unseemly disposal of my body outside of the base, I mounted a major intelligence offensive in which we attempted to infiltrate your habitat. I had to restore my honor after being kidnapped by a… _female_. Though it is hard to distinguish the sex of your species. Are you sure you're not a boy?"

"OI!"

Strix continued with his explanation. "These human operatives were performing surveillance on your habitation as well, which resulted in a failed intelligence mission and my capture."

"Misogynist statements aside, you broke into my apartment? But you _already broke in there_!"

"I have done no such thing."

"Wait, wait…" her brain was doing that Time Lord thing again; a rapid succession of thoughts, connections, synapses firing, resulting in an awkward twitching sensation in her left hand and the inability of her eyes to remain focused. Though that could just be the dark room. Thankfully, the power came back on, and she realized she was standing in a storage room. Paper, pens, staplers, and White-out, all stacked on neat little shelves in neat little rows. It made her almost miss her temping days. Not.

"This, this is it!" she exclaimed, digging a pen from a packet and extracting a sheet of paper. She began scribbling furiously.

"Human, I should warn you, under Sontaran code, I will now take you into custody—"

"Under section L, paragraph 14, subsection j of the Shadow Proclamation, the acquisition or safe negotiation of an alien hostage from the custody of a foreign race by a member of that race shall be countered through fulfillment of a personal debt." She grinned as realization hit. "You owe me one."

"I never liked that rule," Strix stated. "It encourages turncoats."

"It also sort of works to my advantage," Donna said, presenting him with the piece of paper. Glancing the shelves, she stuffed some office supplies in her pockets; she even went so far as to hide a few paperclips in her boots.

Strix gave her a bewildered look.

"I once constructed a blood centrifuge using kitchen appliances. That facial expression," she said, gesturing toward his head, "is invalid. You never know when you can save the world with office supplies."

"I do not understand how office supplies are relevant to debt repayment."

"They aren't, really. Strix, long story short, unless you want to be further tortured in the past, as in, just moments ago, I suggest you go and help my past self. You have to save me so I can save you."

"Your instructions are as complex as your race is dumb."

"I'm assuming that was some sort of insult, but, as circumstances stand, you owe me a debt," Donna continued. "In order for me to save you in the future, you have to save me in the past. You're effectively saving yourself. If you don't, that means you're giving up. And I thought it was dishonorable for Sontarans to give up?"

"I will do no such thing!" Strix said, affronted. "However, it was your actions that resulted in my capture in the first place. How do I know this is not some sort of human deception?"

"WE SAVED YOU FROM THE MAN WITH THE ELECTROSHOCK STICK!"

"If you are trying to avoid detection, I suggest lowering your unfortunate voice pitch."

Donna shook her head. She'd never realized how complex this time-line thing could be. No wonder the Doctor was certifiable.

"Look," she began. "Some things are fixed, some things are in flux. I can see what is, what was, what could be, what must not." His philosophy was becoming clearer to her by the moment. "Time paradoxes are precarious things, but right now, I fully intend on helping your race. These other humans, they want to destroy it. And the other species coming here, they will battle you for me. I know Sontarans love a good battle, but one drop of Sontaran blood shed is a waste when it can ultimately be avoided. Do you understand?"

"I do not understand your aversion to battle, but the rest of your statement retains a sense of... nobility."

"Makes sense, name is _Noble_, after all. Now, you only need to go back over the past couple'a days. I was in a graveyard Wednesday morning, and that's when you need to give me this," she said, and dangled the metallic fob watch in front of the alien's smushy face. "You can't actually talk to me before Wednesday, so only leave it with me when I lose consciousness. It is imperative that you do not talk to me before Wednesday."

"How are you so attuned to all of these circumstances of the past?"

"The entire reason your race wants me, why the humans want me, is to use me to fight other races. I'm human, which binds you to the amendment in the Shadow Proclamation, but I'm also part Time Lord, which just makes me smart!" she said. Donna was talking a mile-a-minute. She was glad she wasn't speaking with the Doctor. It would have taken a brick wall to slow both of their verbal stampedes. "Look, I've written it all down for you," she said, pointing toward the piece of paper. "Give me the watch once I'm out cold, and, when you've taken me to your base, as you'll see in step eight, you'll need to give me your vortex manipulator."

"I'm not going to willingly give away my transport!" Strix said indignantly.

"They're Sontaran standard-issue, or so you told me," she said, forever two steps ahead of him. This was brilliant. "You can report it stolen and get another. Sunday night is when these people, these Mediators come and attack me at my flat, so that's when you'll have to get me out of my apartment. So why do you call them Snatchers?"

Strix looked slightly taken aback that she used that term. "This organization is known to Sontaran kind. They have stolen technology from other races to advance their own, and have thus garnered the term Snatchers through intergalactic communication."

"HA!" Donna laughed. "_Mediators_, sounds so posh. Bet something like 'Snatchers' would take ole' Ed down a peg. Let's see them try to kidnap me then, now!" She nibbled her lip in confusion at her last statement, aware of its oxymoronic confusion.

"I'm sorry, they _will_ come, or they have come?" Strix asked, scratching his bald head.

"They _are going to come_ in the past! This isn't that difficult. Also," she snatched the paper away from his hands once again. "You are forbidden from inflicting any harm, bodily, psychological, or emotional. You can't threaten me to come with you, but do try to keep these guys from getting me," she said gesturing about the place. "I have to meet the Doctor, so I can save you. And don't forget to remind me to get outta Dodge by 6:48. I mean it, 6-4-8! That is also extremely important! I think I'll put a star by this," she said. "Or better yet, highlighters!" Thank God for office supplies, she thought smugly in the little storage cupboard.

"You are surprisingly well organized."

"Super temp," she said nonchalantly.

Distracted from her light-hearted instruction, Donna heard the tramp of boots in the exterior hallway. Eyeing the door with apprehension, she swore inwardly when she realized the Doctor had been gone for over five minutes.

"You've got to go, now," she whispered urgently. "But burn the paper when you're finished! I can't see my own handwriting."

"You intend to save my race from destruction… Why?"

"Because that's what friends do for each other."

"I am friends… with a human?"

"I think right now, more so an acquaintance, but after you save me, yeah, I'd call you my friend," she said, smiling despite her nerves from the Mediators encroaching on her hiding spot.

"You have just saved me, which I suppose promotes you to the level of 'friend'." Strix crossed his fisted right arm across his chest, saluting Donna.

"Thank you for your rescue, Donna Noble," he said.

The door abruptly whipped open, and Donna stumbled backward into the grasp of several Mediators.

"Go!" she shouted.

Strix dematerialized before her, a sad, yet determined look on his face. She hoped he would warn the Sontarans. She hoped the Sontarans would warn the other races. And she really hoped he saved her in the past. But above all else, she hoped the Mediators hadn't caught the Doctor again. Donna knew these people wouldn't make the same mistake twice.

**So _that's_ why Strix was there! Timey-whimey, yes? Understand? Confused? It's okay, so am I. Reviews appreciated :)**


	16. Fixing It

**Have you ever written yourself into a corner to see if you could get out of it? Yeah, well, I thought that would be fun and then this is what happened. This was originally two shorter pieces, but I haven't updated all week so I thought yall might want something a bit lengthier. Don't own, never will, who's ready from the back half of series seven in march?! Whoop whoop! Enjoy :)**

Contrasting her first kidnapping, Donna wasn't unconscious for her involuntary transport to a holding cell. And this time, it was definitely a cell, not some glass box where she was on display. The whole thing in the control room had to have been a power play. Maybe a means to encourage the troops by humiliating her, by having her shackled and helpless. She would have preferred that to this; at least in a glass box she had an awareness of her surroundings. She could observe enemy action. This cell was dank, industrial, and confining. A small box hung a foot from the door, one she could only assume held electric breakers that controlled the row of cells. A dangling, flickering light bulb completed the dismal scene. All she saw was a heavy metal door, reinforced with four manual and two electric-powered, hydraulic locks; she noted the reinforced hinges as her captors tossed her unceremoniously onto the concrete floor.

Still worse, she had no idea where the Doctor was. And he wasn't answering her telepathic calls. She hoped that was because he was too far away, or that the Mediators had placed some psychic barrier around the cell (though the probability of that was .00476%, which she hated knowing), or that he was a bit preoccupied doing something stupidly brilliant that would result in her rescue, so they could fly off in their little blue box and laugh about this episode later.

_Doctor! Doctor… SPACEMAN!_

Nada.

Her shoulders hunched as she took a deep breath, trying to calm herself. She didn't want to always have to rely on him. They were equals now; well, equals before, but in a different way. She could do something brilliantly stupid, too. Maybe…

What did she know?

There were multiple alien fleets hovering somewhere in the atmosphere. The Sontarans might well be at the door to this very facility if Strix hadn't held up his end of the bargain. Although, she was still here, in this cell, so it seemed that no paradox had occurred. Or had it? Was this the result of an alternate time line? She shook herself, trying not to focus on the past, because in the present she was monumentally screwed. She had no idea how close the invading species were, or if they had even made contact with earth authorities. She didn't know if people were screaming in the streets, didn't know if one of the invaders had launched a preemptive attack against Chiswick, didn't even know fully what that big device the Mediators were so proud of actually _did_. She knew it was a weapon, one that could apparently eradicate other races, but with unknown operations. She was going to have to get a better look at that machine. Preferably not while she was hooked up to the thing.

What did she have?

Little more than the clothes on her back. They had searched her this time; the stupid guards getting handsy as they pulled everything, even the lint from her pockets out before depositing her in the cell. The few staples, highlighters and Post-its she had acquired from the storage room were gone, as the Mediators were taking no chances with her detention. Donna did, however, save a couple of paper clips in her socks; she had her hairpins, and her digital watch. Her boots, the buttons on her jacket, and half of a Time Lord consciousness. Surely she could jury rig her way out of this.

Analysis: no windows, no loose bricks. After trying some Morse code on each of the walls to no avail, she realized there was no one around her. No one to help her. The only way out was the way she came in.

She set to work, thankful that three of the manual locks were basic tumbler pieces that she could pick no problem with her hairpins. Using her digital watch latch as a torsion wrench, it took a few minutes to pry the pins within the cylinder apart. She registered a jolt of accomplishment with every auditory _snick_, turning the interior columns and releasing each separate bolt. No guards started knocking at the door, which Donna counted as a small win.

The final manual lock was a disc tumbler, which she now regrettably knew was one of the few anti-lock-picking locks on the planet. Can't be bumped, either, but if she could fashion a pick for a double-sided lock, maybe she could disengage the mechanism of the reinforced hemicircle and release the sidebar.

With a little more finagling, twitching, and something close to a silent prayer, Donna rotated the final manual bolt. She had picked a several locks during her time searching for the Doctor; but with a Time Lord consciousness, simple mechanics and the interior workings of locks, clocks, motor cars, space ships, TARDISes, insert-devices-here, were as familiar to Donna as the lettered keys on her computer.

Now, the only things between her and even more trouble were two electronic locks. She was going to have to throw some sort of short into the system, and all she had was her digital watch. What she would _give_ for a sonic screwdriver right now… The battery in her watch was tightly shut behind the back panel anyway, and even her hairpins weren't small enough to rotate the tiny screws. She could expend time energy, but it wasn't like she could just zap the system with a touch. Upon gaining the knowledge of a Time Lord, she remembered being disappointed upon learning you couldn't jolt something without some sort of conduit to channel the energy. The only other energy source was the light bulb, but how she was going to…

_Oh… oh no_. Donna thought.

She looked at the bulb, and then back at the electronic panel containing (she hoped) the breaker switches. Extracting a paper clip from her sock, she twisted it counter-clockwise on the flat screw head, biting her lower lip as it slowly turned. She patiently unscrewed the four pieces on the auxiliary control panel. The main system had to be in another room, but if she could short-circuit the secondary wiring route…

She looked down at her boots, one of her favorite pairs, eyeing the zipper that stretched up her calves.

"You know, you were my favorite pair. Your sacrifice will never be forgotten."

Ambivalence tempered with aggression, she stabbed the faux leather running alongside the lengthened zip with the pointy end of the paper clip, hacking inexpertly at the chincked metal strip. It was tedious, but she needed the zip in tact. Nearly fifteen minutes passed as Donna constructed an elaborate system comprised of paperclips, a belt buckle, and the zippers from her boots; a metallic conduit for the energy she hoped would short-circuit the security system, releasing the electric locks on her prison door.

Donna deftly unscrewed the light bulb dangling from the center of the room; she waited, patience rewarded as her eyes adjusted to the darkness, pierced only by the fuzzy light sinking in under the door. The light socket swung back and forth in the dimness, mocking her with its electric mouth. She was seriously about to shove her shoddy metal apparatus into the charged hollow; sock-footed and grounded, she flinched against the current as the plug-hole shot sparks.

_It's for the Doctor_, she thought. _A little singe, and it'll be over._

She screwed the light bulb back in place to double-check the metallic lead, making sure it was securely attached to the interior receptors of the small control panel. Ripping a swath of leather from her boot, Donna triple-folded the material to act as a shock absorber. She maneuvered back under the light, taking the bulb down again. Screwing up her courage, she stood tiptoe and thrust her last, undamaged hairpin into the darkness of the socket.

The pin thankfully found grip on the walls of the socket, generating a steady current of energy along her Mcgyver'd wire to the control panel, eliciting all sorts of snaps and sparks as the jolts overtook the system. Donna's right arm tingled so that she was unaware of her fingertips, her palms and she guessed the flats of her feet black from the initial electrocution.

Miracle, science, call it what you will, the two electric locks disengaged after the short, allowing Donna access to a deserted anteroom that led to a hallway. She slid out in her socks, finding her sea legs as she scanned snowy monitors for any signs of security, Ed, or the Doctor.

_Spaceman? Doctor?_

She would not allow herself to get worked up over the lack of telepathic response. She'd not had it during their first few adventures, and she would not use it as a crutch, or some silly excuse to worry.

Posted outside of the anteroom (which had to double as observation; her cell was the middle of five lined against the far wall), a Mediator in black stood, semi-alert, with a weapon even Sontarans might take a second glance at strapped across his shoulder. And yet, Donna felt an odd emotion as she watched the man glance absent mindedly up and down the hallway; it might have been indignation. A single guard seemed somewhat insulting; she _was_ the biggest weapon on the planet. Well, sort of.

Then again, the Mediators may very well have their hands full with the Doctor, or negotiating with other alien races, or torturing some helpless life form…

After a hasty search of the room, Donna found, if not what she was looking for, then at least something that would do the job. She silently reached for the door handle, raising a heavy fire extinguisher above her head. Sliding into the hallway, she brought the device down directly on the soldier's head. She discharged the crumpled soldier's magazine and scattered the bullets down the deserted hallway, all the while thinking: _back of the neck!_

Setting off down the corridor with stealthy urgency, Donna tapped into her telepathic connection with the Doctor. She was at once worried and not worried about him; he could take care of himself and had been doing so for nearly a millennium. She knew he couldn't die, yet the thought of any physical harm to him, or any other species for that matter, fueled her desire for action. She hoped he'd be somewhere near that main room with the odd machine. She hoped she'd be able to exploit the element of surprise to the fullest extent, leaving the Mediators weaponless, Doctor-less, and Donna-less. And, she noted with a healthy degree of amusement, she hoped _she'd_ be able to rescue the damsel this time, and then torment him mercilessly about it later.

* * *

Donna jogged carefully down vacant hallways, losing her bearings on more than one occasion. But once lost, she never made the same mistake again. Her acute memory constructed something like a blueprint in her head, allowing her to estimate the number of floors, rooms, even the square footage of the building despite having never been there before. She had been removed from the main facility; she deduced the space was indeed above ground, as they would need power and proper airspace to receive incoming transmission signals.

Peeking around a corner, Donna finally saw one of the entrances to another, much larger building. A guarded entrance. This had to be it, or there'd be no one posted outside. Donna retreated back around the corner, back flat against the wall. Opening her mind, she could sense the Doctor's consciousness, though only just.

_Doctor?_

_D— Donna?_

_Hey Spaceman! Are you back in the main warehouse? They didn't hurt you, did they?_ She didn't know if her mind could exude worry; but she hoped that urgency could still traverse a telepathic message.

_No, Donna, I'm alright. Just a small sock to the jaw, but I was asking for it._

_How exactly does one ask to get punched? You probably licked one of their weapons…_

_Did not! _His mind huffed.

_Then why couldn't I communicate with you? I couldn't even feel you in my head!_

_Sort of a hard sock… And, they might have drugged me. Knocked me out for a bit. _

_DRUGGED YOU?!_

_When they told me they had you 'taken care of', I possibly acted slightly uncivil. Merely being unconscious doesn't disturb psychic communication, but certain chemicals inhibit neuroreceptors that—_

—_Allow for operation in the telepathic subconscious. Got it, Spaceman._

_Donna, in all seriousness, I don't think you should come back in here._

_Why not? I've gotten as close as I can to the warehouse. They're going to need to use me eventually._

_Exactly! But you're not going to like what it's for Donna._

_I didn't very well __**like **__being kidnapped in the first place; I doubt I'll like anything else they're doing. _

She chanced another peek around the corner to see if the guards had abandoned their stations. Unlike the somewhat inattentive soldier outside her cell, these two were staunchly professional. Faces alert, posture erect. She wondered if they had been tipped off about her odd little escape from the cell; she had passed a number of cameras on her way through the corridors. She didn't yet know whether the security system as well as the lighting had rebooted since the Doctor had orchestrated the outage.

_Can you at least tell me what's going on?_ She asked.

_Better if I show you._

_How do you mean?_

_I'm going to send you a memory. Just go with it, Donna._

She backed down the hallway again, ducking into a small, darkened office as she felt a foreign pressure probing the edges of her brain. Safely behind a desk, Donna succumbed to what she realized was a memory transfer, settling in as she relived the Doctor's last few moments in real time:

_Looking up, Donna saw as the Doctor did. He exited the closet she had occupied with Strix and bolted a few doors down to find an abandoned control room. The lights were off, but one whir with the sonic and the room rebooted itself. _

_Donna felt herself reaching for a pair of glasses, an odd sensation as the Doctor slid them over his ears. He scanned the system, unlocking passcodes and other system defenses with his 'technological jiggery-pokery'. This control room had clearance for many of the files, but, as it remained in the auxillary building, the Doctor was forced to breach multiple firewalls and barriers to get to the main files only accessible in the Mediators' headquarters. _

_Fingertips on keys and eyes flitting from line to line, the Doctor ingested loads of information; the most interesting of which was the schematics for the large metal weapon the Mediators had ushered in under their power play. _

_Empathy through telepathy, Donna felt the Doctor's worry increase as he studied the machine: it was an enhanced Delta wave canon. She also felt confusion, as he noted some of the primary operational components: zeus plugs, trisilicate, even a quantum accelerator._

That would explain the 'snatching' Strix had warned Donna about; these people had somehow scavenged alien technology from the future. Ed had mentioned Torchwood's demise, and that organization's access to alien tech. She was instantly struck with worry for Jack and his coworkers.

_Reading more and more, the Doctor finally got to the last line concerning the canon, the part about 'functional operation utilized for non-genetic specified disintegration' when Donna felt the door swing open abruptly._

Breaking the connection, she twisted round, realizing it was the door to the control room in the Doctor's memory. Sharing experiences felt far too real on the corporeal plane.

She almost didn't concentrate again. She knew what that canon did. It had the power to wipe the minds, mutilate the bodies, destroy the essence of every non-human species hovering unawares somewhere in the stratosphere. And she was the battery.

_The Doctor was kneeling, or pushed down, or sitting; she couldn't quite tell. He might possibly have manipulated the memory to make it easier for her._

_She saw a Carteg on a large screen in the headquarters control room, speaking to Ed via intergalactic skype. _

"… _two hours to produce the human-Time Lord, before the Categgian fleet launches the first wave of our retrieval team."_

"_We will consider your offer and discuss means of transport," Ed replied. "Please retain your current coordinates so that we can provide directions for a transport ship. Our goal is to keep the citizens of the Earth safe at all costs. We will do the right thing by our planet."_

"_Wise decision, human," the Carteg said. _

_Ed nodded at a woman under the screen and she cut the feed. He turned to Kerry, who had been speaking quietly into a com in his ear. _

"_Cartegs have given us two hours, Sontarans have backed off until sunrise, and the Pyroviles have given us another hour," Ed said._

"_The consensus seems to be sunrise, precisely six a.m." Kerry returned. "Although, the Atraxi have just breached the atmospheric perimeter, and our satellites have registered a Carrionite vessel as well as two more as-of-yet unidentified ships."_

"_Make sure we've got people on identification," Ed said. "If sunrise is the earliest deadline, we need her in here at 5:55. She'll be disoriented enough; and the ships have guaranteed no perimeter breach until six. We need as many within range as possible."_

_Donna watched through the Doctor's eyes as Ed glanced adoringly at the large metal machine, like it was more than steel and wire and plastic. It seemed like his lifeline._

"_You can't use her, you know!" Donna felt the Doctor speak. "You masquerading as Earth officials, like you're operating in her best interest. She's not going to cooperate with this hair-brained scheme!"_

"_Doctor," Ed said condescendingly. "She'll not have a choice. The fate of the Earth is at stake here. She'll have to act."_

"_You've seen the threats," Kerry added, yanking the Doctor's head upwards. Donna nearly felt her chin lift. "Every alien race out there has issued an ultimatum: deliver Donna or prepare for battle. She knows Earth can't stand up to them. She'll concede. She cares too much."_

"_She cares about them, too! Especially when they're being manipulated!" the Doctor retorted._

"_Not as much as she cares about Earth. Her mother is here. Her friends are here," Kerry said. "Plus, she might rethink her decision if we did this," Kerry pointed a gun at the Doctor's brow; Donna sensed a cool metal circle between her eyes._

"_Easy, Jim, only if it comes to it," Ed said, bringing the younger man's arm down with his cane. _

"_Doctor, we currently have threats from 22 separate species. She won't be stupid enough to risk it."_

"_But you baited them!" the Doctor yelled. "When the mutation occurred, the entirety of space felt it… they had to respond. Why couldn't you just protect her? She's one of you! You were… you were__** hoping**__ they would come for her?" he lashed out at the two men with his leg, knocking a chair over in the process. It caught Kerry on the shin and he swore, coming up with a fisted swing at the Doctor's jaw._

_Donna felt pressure on her cheek, but it was subdued; as if the Doctor was shielding the complete physical recollection. _

"_We need as many species in position as we can get if we plan to wipe the slate," Ed said. "The canon's range covers a vast circumference, and with Donna's time energy, we'll be able to effectively annihilate every non-human life form encroaching on the Earth. Don't you see, Doctor?" Ed asked. He was being sincere. Grotesquely so. "We'll never have to worry about invasions again! This is a preemptive strike against what could be a truly devastating war against humanity. By disposing of these few retrieval vessels, we're sending a message to the universe that humans are not to be toyed with. We are not to be underestimated. We are not… going to yield." Ed's voice was desperate, a quiet intensity highlighted by his own perverse conviction in his cause._

Donna shuddered_._

"_She won't do it," the Doctor said, working his bruised mandible back and forth. Donna registered a metallic taste in her own mouth. "Let her negotiate, there's still time to stop this."_

"_Doctor, we're going to bait them," Ed said simply. "We're going to kill them, and, we're going to use Donna to do it. Try. To. Stop. Us."_

"_Taunt all you like, you won't be able to manipulate her energy."_

"_What is it that you think psychiatrists do, Doctor?" Kerry asked. "I've been 'manipulating her energy' for months."_

"_No human drug will make her that complacent in five minutes."_

"_Good point, Doctor," Ed said. "Jim, maybe you should bump up the dosage. Make sure you give her a direct injection, at least three hours prior to activation. She's in the south wing now?"_

"_Yes sir."_

"_We'll have the med staff on her at two for prep, medication administered at half past. Will that be long enough for metabolization?" _

"_Her drug history supports the time period, sir."_

"_Wonderful!" Ed said, clapping his hands together briskly. "We'll issue a general statement to the species, not a warning per se, but something that can be broadcast back on their home planets. Then, with our subdued secret weapon—"_

"_You can't drug her again," the Doctor interrupted._

"_Why not?"_

"_You don't know how it will affect her."_

"_I have eight months evidence to the contrary," Kerry said, slapping the Doctor over the head with a thick file._

"_The only reason you can use her now is because her DNA has physically mutated. How do you know those drugs will affect her the same way?"_

"_Good point, Doctor," Ed said, pupils increasingly narrowed. "Better triple the dosage."_

"_But you could KILL HER!"_

"_If she's half dead, she can't fight back," Ed said. _

"_No!" the Doctor said, struggling against his restraints. "You can't do this to her again!" _

_Kerry moved to subdue him, but the Doctor only fought harder._

"_You'll ruin her… messing with her mind like that! It's… it's—"_

"_It's exactly what __**you**__ did Doctor. Don't be so testy," Ed said snidely._

_The Doctor thrashed about, kicking Kerry off of him and moving to undo the ties that bound his hands behind him. He shouldered a larger Mediator out of the way, more Oncoming Storm than Doctor; Donna had seen his desperation before, but rage was infrequent. He continued yelling._

"_You can't do this! You're going to start something now that can't be undone. The threat is fixed! The whole universe is going to—"_

_Donna felt a pressure against her neck similar to the device they used when they retrieved her from the streets. She assumed this was when the Doctor had lost consciousness, the Mediators drugging him to keep him from lashing out at their operatives._

Donna opened her eyes. The darkness of the small office reminded her of all those temp days when she would come in early_, _turn on the lights, make the coffee, boot up the computers. Everything had been so simple then, so regular; but ultimately, unfulfilling. Her time with the Doctor; that was everything she ever wanted in life. Doubtless, she had traveled. More than miles, more than leagues; she had traveled light years, dived headfirst into blackholes, roasted marshmallows over a supernova, played hopscotch in a meteor shower. She had witnessed history: had given ideas to a renowned writer, nursed recovering soldiers from the Crusades, even had a hand in gravity's creation! Well, she didn't know Newton had been under that tree. And if the Doctor was going to throw an apple at her while she wasn't even looking…

And it all came down to this. To this time, where she could keep the history she had created, or destroy it with noncompliance. There were numerous aliens hovering above her this very instant, poised to bombard her home planet. Whether the attacks stemmed from hostile aggression or human manipulation didn't matter; she was the only one who could fix it. Fix, fixed. To fix this time must be fixed; f—f— f— fixed. Foreboding. Forever. Final.

How do you prevent an alien attack on your home planet when… _fixed_… you're the weapon the planet wants to use against the other species? And how do you keep the other species from chasing you, forever… _fixed_… everyday of your life? How do you keep them… _fixed_… from holding your planet hostage? It was all because of her. The reason the planet was in danger. That numerous aliens could be dead in mere hours. That, despite this magnificent 'canon', the Mediators could very well encourage future attacks on Earth. That the Doctor, her brave, brilliant, daft Spaceman, was getting punched in the face and drugged and completely strung out. She wished she could just leave, simply remove herself from the hostility. Without her, there would be no reason to fight, no reason for the invaders to breach Earth lines prematurely.

_Fixed_. But right now, she needed to stop worrying. She needed in that facility. She needed to get a look at that canon. She needed to renegotiate with the invaders. And above all, she needed to see the Doctor.

She examined the office, once again astounded at all the supplies hiding in drawers and filing cabinets. In her cranium, ideas whizzed about like dragonflies, flitting this way and that before fully completing their trajectories. Lights and snow, a mug of tea and an old film on telly. Something about being home at Christmas… that year mum and dad were off north at a B&B and Gramps was on at the newsstand, where she'd stayed home alone… She sniggered, feeling that the Doctor would be sad that he had missed out on her stroke of brilliance.

Molto bene! He would say.

_Doctor?_

_Yes Donna?_

_Seems like the worst is confirmed._

_I'm afraid so, Donna._

_You're good for now, right?_

_I'm still a bit groggy. Put me in one of those glass boxes they fancy so, and they took my screwdriver. I'm not going anywhere._

_Give me fifteen minutes._

_I'll be waiting._

Donna took a waste bin and began tossing in the necessary materials, eager to get this done quickly, but with that spark of creative ingenuity that made it oh-so-Noble. Despite the cheerfulness she felt with her little plan, something uncomfortable niggled the back of her mind. Something imminent, ominous. She didn't have time to think about it.

_FIXED._

**Home stretch, I promise! Reviews appreciated! :D**


	17. Pushpins, Blood and Laserbeams

**Sooner updates mean it's almost finished! So thankful for your readership and feedback. I do it cause I love the show, and these amazingly strong characters. Don't own: Davies, Moffat, and BBC. They are in control. Enjoy ;)**

Donna stepped into full view around the corner from her hiding place, pausing there to attempt a shocked countenance as the two Mediators guarding the entrance bucked up at her presence.

"Damn!" and she dove back into the hallway, vaulting her first surprise, grinning as she picked up the thuds of the Mediator's boots in pursuit. She tiptoed around the edge of one section of the hallway just as the guards turned the corner… and fell face first against the floor. Donna smirked, and possibly raised the roof, as her long string of paperclips had tripped up the two hardened soldiers. Momentarily stunned, the guards looked up at Donna, who feigned further terror, before shuffling back into the little office she had used as her base during the memory transfer. She crouched down to ground level and peered back into the hallway, staunching a laugh as the Mediators fought with their heavy boots, now securely stuck to the floor due to an immense amount of glue that Donna had enhanced with some chemicals from liquid paper, bathroom soap, and a bit of highlighter fluid to create a hyper-sensitized bonding agent. One of the guards was attempting to pry his gun from the surface of the floor as the other began untying his shoelaces.

All according to plan.

"Leave it!" she heard one of them yell. "Call back to command."

Drat! That was the one part she hoped they'd keep til later. She'd sort of been pinning her plan on the soldiers' egos; that they wouldn't call for backup when her tactics were so blatantly childish. Blatantly childish, but effective. Supposed she had to continue.

She withdrew from her place at the floor and scattered her next little hiccup, retreating to a corner for safety.

Donna was happy to note the guards entered the room without their guns. One reached for the light switch.

"She's pulled the socket out from the wall!"

"How do you know—" Bzzz.

Oh, she didn't even mean for that to happen. She just wanted it dark.

The six-foot-something guard collapsed into a convulsing heap, apparently much less adept at conducting electricity than herself. Then again, this room powered multiple computers as well as industrial lighting; not to mention the closer she got the main facility, the higher the power sources needed to be in terms of wattage for sustainability. The Doctor's recent surge probably didn't help things either. She hoped he'd only fainted. It was starting to smell like bad bar-b-que.

"Conrad!" the other soldier said.

He stepped forward and then hastily withdrew his sock-covered foot, placing his other down to steady himself, which only resulted in frenzied hopping and a loss of balance, as the large male fell straight into a pile of pushpins Donna had hidden in the carpet of the office. The man emitted strange yelping noises and rolled onto his back to see the pale face of Donna, her curtain of red hair swinging directly above him.

"I'm really sorry about this, mate," she said, and pushed a computer monitor onto the man's head.

"You're actually lucky you didn't make it to the back half of the office," she said to the unconscious guards.

She pulled the com out of Conrad's ear, dropping her voice a couple of octaves.

"Ehm… Backup retreat. That was a false alarm."

"Copy. Withdrawing backup, over."

"Uhm… thank you, over?"

Before she could analyze that interaction any further, Donna began stripping the smaller of the two guards. She emerged from the office, hair tied back and in full-out Mediator gear, with a spray bottle of anti-bonding formula she'd whipped up with some bathroom chemicals from under the sink. She needed to get herself a new pair of boots.

* * *

Donna was thankful for the slick floor, because sliding an unconscious soldier close to double her body weight was not on her regular physical regimen. Donna looked through the window to the facility. She saw Ed, Kerry, mouse-clipboard-woman, frost-tips muscles, and three other black-clad subordinates sitting around a table. Ed was mid-story, laughing at his own tale. Half the table looked engaged, the other half bored. At least the table was at the far end of the room.

The massive shards of glass from her original prison had been swept aside, though one probably couldn't find a broom that size at the local home goods shop. Instead, one glass box stood where many had been; the Doctor sat, unsteadily twirling in a broken swivel chair. There were cracks in places on the glass; the loopy Martian had probably thrown the chair at the walls. She knew the back of the glass panel slid open with some release thrown by the main control board; she'd seen it open when they'd imprisoned Strix beside her. Unfortunately, the main control board was directly across from the head table. She couldn't burst in, metaphorical guns blazing. But the Time Lord half told her it was just after half one, which meant the medical team would be coming for her soon, only to discover she was not where she was supposed to be. Though how she hadn't been found out yet she did not know.

Her main priority was freeing the Doctor. He'd been doing this for years, eons really. He could talk a post into moving, surely he could figure something out with these elitist imbeciles.

Donna hefted the unconscious Conrad's body into the desk chair she had brought with her. Half way there. Using the chair and supporting the man with her legs, she utilized her sense of feminine strength and knowledge of leverage to shift the man into an upright position, holding open his eyelid for the retina scan required for entry. She then pushed the body in the chair behind the door. At the confirmation ding, she swiped his access card and strode through, head down, walking with purpose.

_Doctor, keep swiveling._

She saw him barely stop and turn his head about, but he kept up his nonchalant action.

_Are you here, Donna?_

_ Yes, I'm in._

_ Where are you?_

_ Far wall, coming your way. Heading to the main control panel. Got a plan. Maybe. Just be ready to move._

_ Always._

Lowering her vocal octave again, Donna kept to the outskirts of the room and spoke.

"Command, come in, over."

"Command in."

"There's been a breach in the South wing. Request back up, over."

Donna watched as a man at the main control board turned to Ed.

"Sir, Conrad's called with a security breach."

"Conrad again?" Ed said with exasperation. "It better not be another false alarm."

"It's in the South wing, sir."

Ed's eyes narrowed and he stood, grasping his cane white-knuckled.

"Send two teams!" he shouted, driving his cane into the floor. "Do not let her escape, do you understand?! You bring her here, now. Kerry, get the drugs," Ed barked. "And you, tell Conrad to find her."

The man at the control station returned, and Donna's com registered again.

"Requested backup en route, maintain and subdue target, over."

Kerry was barking orders at a series of the larger men in the room. Frost-tips Muscles led two teams out the door that Donna had entered as the rest of the Mediator control room scrambled in the flurry.

"Code orange," Kerry told the Muscle with a nod. "Subdue only!" he shouted after the man.

Donna walked swiftly by a group of huddling women in skirts, looking over a series of blueprints and open files. Bypassing a table, she grabbed one of those taser-like chemical injectors and stored it in her pocket.

_You do know how to cause quite a stir._

_And I haven't even told anyone off yet, Spaceman._

Donna slid into one of the chairs at the main computer panel, her back to the table full of higher-ups. One-hundred words per minute fingers attacked, and a Time-Lord brain processed. She finally got to the file containing the operation code for the glass containers when the technician who had been manning the computers rolled his chair near her.

"Carl, what are you—"

Donna jabbed the injector into his abdomen, catching his head as he slouched back into the seat. Peering over her shoulder, she saw Ed pacing furiously and Kerry preparing several syringes full of drugs. She pushed the knocked-out computer man gently back to his place, overwriting the encryption code for the glass prison.

_Doctor, as discreetly as possible, please see if the door on the back of the box is open._

_Discreet, yes, got it_. He thought, and proceeded to untangle himself from the broken chair and stumble about the box.

Donna bowed her head in embarrassment.

Thankfully, only the gaggle of female Mediators took notice. With a grin and a strut, the Doctor proceeded to idly pace about the glass box as if nothing had happened.

_Smooth, Spaceman. Like gravel._

He didn't think anything, but there was playful hurt emanating from his mind.

Donna watched as the Doctor meandered about the box, finally squeezing through the back open panel and keeping to the far wall as Donna had done. While she was on the main computer, Donna continued typing, fingers flying, disengaging the established canon perimeter and typing a message to the communications systems of the surrounding fleets.

_Incoming Message: Donna Noble, of Chiswick, London, advises a retreat by all alien species breaching Earth's atmospheric perimeter. The Earth Mediators, also known as, Snatchers, also run by, Edmund Cornelius Duncan, Jr._ _plan an attack on all spacecraft within intergalactic coordinates Y47X29Z32 through Y349X293Z359. Mediators have drawn you within range of Delta wave weaponry by means of deception. Retreat. In accordance with Article 12 of the Shadow Proclamation._

She didn't know how that could have been any clearer.

Apparently, clarity was her strong suit. The computer switchboard began lighting up, and several alien faces appeared above her on the massive communications screen.

"Richard, what the hell is going on?" Ed said, storming over to the man Donna had injected. "There shouldn't be any incoming messa—"

Ed stopped as Richard's body pooled on the floor.

"What the… Carl!" Ed yelled, finally making his way to Donna.

Alright, best way to do this, play it cool. She was going to pretend like she completely intended this. Deep breath. Only the future of the world we're talking about. Donna sent out a small help plea for the Doctor, then slowly removed the Mediator cap as she glided around on her own swivel chair.

"Carl's indisposed," she said airily, twirling the cap on her index finger. "So are Conrad and Richard, I'm afraid, plus another two guards I didn't have the pleasure of meeting."

Ed halted in his uneven gait, mouth gaping and rage bubbling on the edges of his features.

"How did you—"

"How could she not, really," the Doctor said, joining in Donna's light air. "She _is_ Donna Noble after all. She stopped Daleks; for her, human barriers are child's play. And she does like to play." He sidled up to the sitting Donna, placing a hand on her shoulder. Donna couldn't hold back the grin as he squeezed, the reassuring presence helping her find her voice again.

"And, by the looks of things," Donna continued, "there aren't too many aliens happy with you right now, mate."

The screen flashed images of fleets reversing, removing themselves from the coordinates Donna had given them. But they weren't _retreating_. They were supposed to leave.

"What did you do?!" Ed yelled.

"Just a little warning," Donna said. "You shouldn't have brought them that close in the first place. There have already been skirmishes in the atmosphere between opposing races. What happens when—"

"Shut up!" Ed yelled, motioning towards Kerry.

Donna hadn't noticed him approaching, glove-covered fingers gripping the plunger of a syringe.

Donna flinched inadvertently. She would not go back to the numb.

Another reassuring squeeze from the Doctor.

"Get up," Ed seethed.

"No," Donna said, emboldened and angry.

"I said, get up." Ed rotated the handle of his cane, brandishing a small revolver that had been contained within the shaft. "Or I'll make you wish you had."

"What are you going to do, shoot me? Thought you need me in tact," Donna snarled.

"You I do," Ed said. "Him I don't."

An echoing bang resounded throughout the facility, and the Doctor cried out as Ed fired into his shoulder.

Donna jerked up then, inserting her body between the deranged Ed and the bleeding Doctor.

She felt pain in her own shoulder, and fear, and oh god, the blood…

'_s alright…_ he thought. _Went through and through… no organ damage_.

Donna pressed her bare hand against the blood soaking through his pinstripes, hurling defiant looks at Ed and an approaching Kerry.

"You're twisted," Donna shouted.

"I'm HUMAN!" Ed returned. "You, and whatever _this_ disgusting connection with this, thing…" he motioned at the Doctor, who had collapsed into the chair Donna had been using. "You are twisted. Vile. Now get on the platform, or he gets one between the eyes."

Donna raised her hands in surrender, and began the ascent to the machine. Three Mediators grabbed the Doctor, and began dragging him back to the glass box.

"Wait," Kerry said to the group. He got down in the Doctor's face. "You know she hallucinated you, right?" he grabbed the Doctor's injured shoulder, pressing into the wound with his thumb. "You were her greatest weakness. What we gave her, always had to do with making you pop up again. And here you are, in the flesh." Kerry twisted his gloved knuckle into the bullet hole, the Doctor straining against the grips of his captors, and what Donna recognized as whispered Gallifreyan curses escaping his contorted lips. "Well, alien flesh. Thanks for coming when we needed. I know house calls can be pretty dear."

He punched the Doctor in the face again before the other Mediators dropped him into the box. Hitting the floor the Doctor rolled over and, using the glass wall for support, shifted to a standing position to see Donna. A massive smear of blood trailed behind his weak form, dirtying the glass.

Donna whimpered as more Mediators inserted her hands into the metal posts on the platform. For added security, she was cuffed and her feet shackled in some titanium alloy. Silent tears pooled as she saw the Doctor fight to stay standing. Despite her bondage, Ed kept his revolver leveled at her.

"Start the machine!" he commanded.

Mediators ran to the control panel as angered alien faces still flashed across the communications screen.

"She's tampered with the canon range, sir," a Mediator said.

"Did I ask you to check the range?" Ed hollered. "I said activate the damn canon!"

More buttons, a few levers, and Donna heard the sound of a machine starting up, turbines whirring somewhere, gears churning and sparks traveling along wire. She could feel it, the power in the machine.

"Do you realize what you've done?!" Ed yelled at Donna. "You've given them a headstart! Now they know! And it doesn't matter!" he said, hobbling up the steps of the platform, sans cane for support. "They're still coming for you. And they'll still fight for you. The barbarians…You should be happy to fight for your race!" The old man was sweating now, flailing, possessed. "You can't stop the fighting. Not everything is in your control!"

Her own words haunted her…_fixed_… Could she have possibly told the Doctor the exact same thing only hours earlier?

"I can control destruction," Donna responded, head high.

Ed flung the back of his hand against her face; the Doctor began banging on the glass walls.

Squinting through the tears from the force of the slap, Donna faced Ed again, and, just as she had done with Kerry, spit in his face.

"Fine," Ed said, resigned. "Have it your way. Jim!"

Kerry moved up the platform, needle in hand, and Donna began to thrash.

When Kerry's foot hit the first platform step, several things happened at once. First, the metal arch of the machine began to shimmer, radiating some sort of energy field. Donna's hands tingled, the machine attuned to her DNA signature extracting bits of her time-energy despite her resistance. Second, bullets began flying as the troop of Mediators originally sent to recover her backpeddaled into the facility headquarters, dodging what Donna figured were laser beams and flame throwers. Stray bullets peppered the front of the Doctor's glass case, but the glass would not yield to their punctures and his ramming body. Sontarans poured into the facility, General Korglaz leading the attack as Mediators and Sontarans both fell over desks and onto tables, bullets and beams penetrating enemy armor. Strix was nowhere to be found.

Ed ran to the control panel and lifted a microphone to his mouth. "CEASEFIRE!"

The bellowing of the enhanced audio caused Mediators to hold; General Korglaz raised an armored hand, and the lasers hushed.

During the foray, Kerry had moved behind Donna, and had her neck in a tight choke hold. He roughly pulled the sleeve from her arm, ripping her shirt and exposing her flesh to the prick of the loaded needle.

"Is this what you're looking for?!" Kerry yelled. "You want her," he nudged Donna forward. "Huh?!"

"Hand over the female," Korglaz commanded.

The dull thuds of the Doctor's body on glass permeated the parley.

"You have promised multiple races her deliverance. Yet you have violated the negotiation practices under the Shadow Proclamation—"

"The what?" Kerry said.

"And have reneged on the bargain. Luckily, we were informed of your plan."

"But—" Donna strained. "I only just sent out the message."

"One of our operatives relayed the intelligence."

"It was Strix? I sent him! Where is—" Donna choked again, Kerry's elbow crushing her windpipe.

"The informant was necessarily executed after discovery of unauthorized time manipulation and prolonged contact, assisting the female. He even suggested _retreat_," Korglaz said with disgust. "We have acquired the target. Sontar Ha!"

An echo from the troops: "Sontar HA!"

"Deliver the Noble one, or perish," Korglaz said.

Donna attempted a scream, but her vision was blurring. Her hands were on fire, and the waves of energy pulsing from the arch were causing her to shake. She vaguely registered that Strix was dead… and that it was her fault. Donna was fighting the machine, holding back completely, but it was draining her. She could easily imagine wiping out thousands of aliens if she just let go: sweet release. But she had rerouted the canon when she'd disabled the circumference coordinates. If they activated the machine, the facility could blow.

"I'd rather die," Ed squealed, eliciting a few questionable looks from his own soldiers. He gripped the edge of the control panel for support, legs weakening without his cane. "Than give into some alien… savages!"

"Very well," Korglaz returned. "Sontar, HA! Engage!"

Lasers and yelling and blood and sparks. Falling plaster from the walls, smoke from furniture catching fire, multiple alien languages as the other alien species requested access to Mediator headquarters via the communications screen.

Ed began firing at Sontarans with his tiny revolver, hitting a rushing alien between the eyes. The potato-like creature fell backward onto a desk, purple blood trickling down, a striking contrast against the metallic blue and silver armor. A wild grin appeared on Ed's face, uncontrollable laughter. Kerry was taking cover behind the platform, rising every now and then to rain a few shots at an oncoming alien.

The energy flowing from the arch was protecting Donna but hindering others, bullets and lasers ricocheting off of the invisible force field and bouncing back against the dischargers of the weapons.

Donna's body was burning and she was silently screaming, holding the energy back. This machine bolstered her strength, made her crave release. Bottling it up was a slow torment; the Doctor did what he could from his glass box, sending soothing telepathic messages her way. Safe from the melee, but separated from Donna.

A bullet or a laser beam, Donna wouldn't know, hit Ed squarely in the chest, sending him tumbling back onto the activation button of the control panel.

And that button sent a jolt through the system, a stimulus into the wiring, in which Donna tensed, and then tragically, released. Unknown to others, she escaped reality during that brief moment.

A shock wave of untempered energy blasted the room, shattering computer monitors, causing weapons to self-destruct, sending bodies, both human and alien, flying over stairwells. Pure white light poured from Donna, eclipsing a fiendish Ed and a hostile Korglaz and reducing them to inanimate matter on the floor. The brunt of the wave shattered the Doctor's glass cage; the walls absorbed the full force of the blast, ironically, his protection and his prison.

Bloodied arm swinging helplessly at his side, the Doctor rose from the pile of shattered glass and picked his way over the static bodies of Sontaran and human, littering the floor of the facility. Donna had collapsed to her knees, arms pinned above her head by the titanium cuffs.

Shuffling toward Ed's mangled body, the Doctor reached into the corpse's interior breast pocket and pulled out his screwdriver. He staggered up the stairs toward Donna, whirring the screwdriver and releasing her titanium restraints. She fell back into his arms, opening her eyes at the landscape of destruction before her.

"I— I—"

"This wasn't you," he said quickly.

"Oh my god."

"This wasn't you. This could not be helped."

"Oh my god, oh my…" she ducked into his shoulder, unable to face the evidence of her own power.

"Shh… it's alright, now." He rubbed her exposed arm with his good hand, whispered reassurances into her hair as she cried.

Donna began shaking, hysterics taking over. The blood on his suit jacket, purple blood at her feet; she saw the scorched face of what had once been the mousy-young woman. She knew because by her side lay a blackened clipboard. A glass shard, sprinkled in violet and crimson, jutted out of the gut of a Sontaran soldier.

Never had death been so gorily personal; she herself had just ended so many lives. But that wasn't the only reason for her hysterics. During the energy wave, Donna had seen into the vortex; had seen what must be done, had faced herself. To prevent something like this from ever happening again. She now knew what it meant to know what is, what must be, what cannot and what must not. She turned away from the Doctor and wretched.

"Donna, Donna…" he tried, holding her shaking form tighter. "It's alright, it's fine. We're okay now. It's over."

"No…" she said. Donna sniffled, and pulled her hair back over her shoulder. She rubbed at her eyes, forcing herself to breathe normally. She was going to have to be strong. She was going to have to get over this, and quickly. Because, Donna knew, this was going to kill him.

"I'm so sorry Doctor, but it's not."

She looked pointedly at the screen, flashing the faces of over twenty alien races, weapons poised and primed for attack, ready to send Earth to oblivion, all for acquisition of her.

What must not be.

**Reviews appreciated! Even if you don't like it, I'd still like to hear from you. **


	18. The Most Faithful Companion

**This next part picks up a bit in the action of the last. Don't hate me. Go back and read the last few graphs of the previous chapter if confused. Don't hate me. This is probably the finish, but there will be a short epilogue. That's why it's so long. Don't hate me. I don't own this, Davies, Moffat and BBC do. Have I asked you not to hate me? Enjoy :/**

Donna saw Ed's limp form crumple, mashing the activation button as his grey, glassy eyes stilled on the descent. The jolt of the activated canon released her pent power, but during its expulsion, Donna was suspended: in time, in space, into her own void.

Swirling oranges and yellows, van Goghesque in blending; warm, intangible tones cascading like buttery waterfalls as Donna found herself separate, removed from the exchange of Sontaran and human aggression, stable in the foreign nonspace.

Blinking, Donna stood bewildered; she felt different suddenly, at once lacking and complete. She tried to determine what was happening based on knowledge, to reach back into her expansive consciousness and sort the situation. But it wasn't there. The knowledge; her Time Lord consciousness, it was—

"No, it's not gone," a voice said. "It's only external, for a moment, anyway."

Donna looked across the surreal room toward the familiar accent, and her jaw dropped.

It was her, Donna, but not her, because… well, she couldn't be outside herself. A clone, perhaps, or a duplicate, or, some malfunction with the canon, because she was looking at herself, another person, but… more.

Other Donna approached slowly, clad in some swishing golden robe with red stitching and peculiar circular symbols on the stole about her neck.

"What the... give me my body back!" Donna yelled.

"It's _our_ body, calm down."

"I will NOT calm down," Donna said impatiently. "I don't know what's going on, and I should, because I know stuff, sister— just, not… not right now," she said with an indignant huff, wracking her brain for something, _anything_ that she could use. She had known differential calculus, biohumanoid metaphysics, 28,792 languages, only moments ago. Now she just felt empty.

Other Donna smiled knowingly and passed a hand over Donna's face. She felt a bit more relaxed, transfixed by her duplicate. She didn't want to seem narcissistic, but, she was… Well, rather _hot_ was the only way to describe her. What Donna might have looked like on a fantastic day twenty years ago, if she had had access to astonishingly regal attire and some makeup that made her glow like a sun. But she wasn't younger; only more. More pronounced. More assured. More beautiful. More everything.

"I'm your consciousness, Donna; your new consciousness. I am the Time Lady that you are."

"You mean to tell me that all Time Lords look like that? Wear that?"

"Well, not as well as we do," Time Lady Donna said with a smile.

"So that's where my mind went," Donna asked. "My new mind, into a get-up like that?" She gave herself another look, from toe to top. "Oh wow… is that Gallifreyan? Does the Doctor wear that dress?!"

"Not exactly. The males typically wear red. With head gear. But it clashes, as you would guess," she said, swinging her rippling locks over her own shoulder. "Can't have that. Donna, this is how you were before the metacrisis. You are your human self, before you were touched by the knowledge of the vortex."

"And where am I now?"

"That's difficult to explain," Time Lady Donna said. "This is the vortex, but a single channel. _Our_ channel, Donna."

"Why's it all melty?"

Time Lady Donna averted her eyes. "Because it's dying Donna. Burning, if you will. Our time is up."

"What? What do you mean burning?"

"Like a dying sun—"

"No, what do you mean our time is up? Time can be rewritten."

"Not fixed points."

"You mean to tell me, with the Sontarans, and the Mediators, when I go back, that's it? They'll kill me?" Donna brought her hand to her mouth, her voice cracking as she tried to make sense of all this. "You mean I'm going to die?"

"You've already made your decision, Donna," the Time Lady said. "I am only acting as reason. You had squared it with yourself hours ago; if it came to this, you knew what you would do. You prepared. The numbers on your mirror, Donna? You left them for the Doctor."

"That was more of a precaution, just in case."

"Donna, you settled it within yourself. You're ready to make the sacrifice to protect the fixed point. To protect the Earth, the future of human kind. I wouldn't be here if you hadn't."

Donna felt a tear fall. She hadn't even realized she'd been crying. "How do we know it's fixed?"

"You feel it," the Time Lady said. "Don't deny it. I _am_ you, Donna."

She did. She felt it, as soon as she stepped off the grating of the TARDIS and onto the London pavement, that that was the last time she would see that fantastic blue box. Why she had left those numbers, that small comfort for the Doctor.

"Time can't be rewritten once it's been seen by anyone; once it's been established. Dalek Caan saw it happen." Time Lady Donna extended her arm toward the wall of falling reds, and a swirling hole appeared, revealing a convulsing, crazed Dalek Caan, over a year ago on the Crucible: "I can see it," the mutilated alien wailed. "Everlasting death. For the most faithful companion!"

"You will not die by the hand of another, Donna," her counter said.

"I've got to do it myself."

The Time Lady, Donna's mirror image, bowed her head in agreement.

"We will both die Donna. This knowledge was never meant to be. If Time Lords or Ladies are to exist, it must be a natural process. You cannot mutate into a Time Lady. We were just too stubborn to let that daft Spaceman of ours think he knew what was best."

Donna finally felt a sense of connection with this alternate version of herself. She was calm, benevolent, reasonable: most of the qualities she would express whenever countering a frantic Doctor's antics.

"You are here, in this moment, to face the set path. Look, Donna, at what will happen should you evade the prophetic words of Dalek Caan."

Another wave of her hand and the yellowing wall dissolved into a whirlpool of time.

She saw her future. And it was everything… beautiful. Flashing moments, with the Doctor. The pair picnicking on Marnello, hurtling over snowy geysers in 42,784 A.D., making love in a futuristic hotel suite on Felspoon, an anniversary of sorts, pulling a family in a rainstorm from rushing waters on Hagstrunk, and even… a little boy, toddling about the console room, screwdriver in hand, as Donna laughed at the Doctor, searching everywhere for the device. Brown eyes, red hair askew. He even wore the trainers.

But throughout those splendid, rapturous times, an overwhelming sense of guilt inundated her being. Time Lady Donna waved a hand.

Flashes of green, red, blue; fire and energy pulses waylaying entire towns. Shrapnel exploded, finding its way into the eye socket of a man, shielding his child. Plasmavores descended, Trachtorns darted, and Cartegs advanced, demolishing every human they saw in their path, taking down bridges, skyscrapers, buildings, farms. Every species sought her, but she had vacated the planet, escaping with a Martian in a blue box. She saw a crater where her primary school once stood, her mother's cold body contorted on the Chiswick lawn.

Earth was dying while she lived. Pompeii or the world, Donna, the Doctor had said.

Donna or the world, Doctor, she would have to tell him.

"You're right," Donna said, tearing her gaze from the horror. "I was… _we_ were never meant to be. I suppose that means, the Doctor and I… guess we weren't supposed to be either."

"Oh, he loves you Donna," the Time Lady assured her.

"Are you sure it's not you?" she replied, attempting to grin through the tears. "You're all," she gestured vaguely to her hourglass figure, a hand flying near her head to indicate intelligence. "You know."

"Yes, yes I suppose I am all, that. But it's not the mind. It's the…" the Time Lady paused, searching for the correct word. "I suppose, something like the soul. The justification behind each decision that builds a human character. He loves you for your motives. They are pure, untainted by selfishness. Few beings, humans especially, possess this selflessness."

"This is going to devastate him. I'm not—" she caught herself. She was about to say that she wasn't anything special, that she wouldn't really be missed. But she would be. By him. Maybe not by the whole world, for whom she was acting. But the Doctor would mourn her. She hoped not for long; for he was meant to traverse galaxies, change lives, even if it wasn't hers. She would never withhold the encounter she had experienced from other humans, future companions. The Doctor was too amazing to keep to herself; he had to be shared. Which is why she was going to have to find some way so he wouldn't blame himself. She couldn't, _wouldn't _let him fester in grief. He had to go on.

"Is that what this is?" Donna asked. "You're preparing me, but this is also so I'll know what to tell him. To help reconcile my fate to the Doctor?"

"He has endured such loss before you."

"I know," Donna said. "You know, too."

The Time Lady's countenance wavered, not sorrowful, but resigned submission to the power of the vortex.

"Come," she said to Donna, extending her hand.

Donna shuffled closer. "The time has come, oh cursed spite. That ever I was born to set it right."

Time Lady Donna raised a brow at her reflection; smirk appearing on her goddess-like features.

"I knew things before I got a fancy brain, you know."

"I do, Donna. And may I say, it's been a privilege… being, well, a part of you."

"Don't know what to say to that," Donna said. "Thanks? You're welcome? Get back in my head?"

The Time Lady chuckled. "We will miss the Doctor," she said simply.

Donna nodded.

And then, she woke up to a control room full of dead aliens and humans, resting in the Doctor's arms. Hysterics and reassurances, a small conversation before he uttered his belief, what she knew was a lie. He thought everything was settled, that it was over. She hated to counter him, to tell him the truth:

"I'm so sorry Spaceman, but it's not."

* * *

Donna stared at the Doctor. He looked horrible, worried, anxious; but not defeated. Never defeated. And that gave her hope for him. Donna turned in his arms, sat with weak legs, crunching bits of debris under her weight.

"I love you," she said, pulling his face gently to hers, careful of his tender shoulder. A barely-there touch of lips. "Thank you for everything."

"Now, to work, to work Spaceman," she said, hefting her tired body from the floor. "Let's see what these dumbos think they're getting themselves into if they want to get a piece of Donna Noble."

Donna attempted steady, secure steps down the stairs of the platform. She would not break in front of him. She would leave him just as she found him; with attitude and surety and confidence and zeal that only she could harbor. Even exposed, preparing for the end, she was not above giving every alien out there what for.

She double-checked the system, not the least bit surprised that it was fully functioning despite her energy wave from only moments ago.

"Donna, what are you doing?"

"What does it look like? I'm saving the planet."

She flicked a switched, typed in some code, and twenty-seven different alien faces appeared, in their own little boxes on the massive Mediator communication screen. She liked to know that part of her, even the smallest part, resembled that regal Time Lady. That's how she wanted to be remembered. Powerful, defiant, beautiful… staring down the face of the universe.

"Am I addressing the highest ranking officer of each alien fleet?" Donna asked, her voice solid, almost condescending. "'Cause if I'm not, you'd better go get 'em. I'm not about to get pushed on some low-level communications subordinate. Go get 'em!"

About half the screens rippled and confused faces retreated, as similar species replaced computer technicians who had been stationed in front of the communications camera. The Doctor was being uncharacteristically silent, scrutinizing Donna's actions from a half-charred office desk. The poor bloke had just been shot, had just withstood the collapse of weighted glass panes after an unprecedented energy wave. She didn't mind the quiet.

"According to the wartime engagement section of the Shadow Proclamation, with the authority of the vortex endowed by the Eye of Harmony, I address the following commanders: Pyroville, Plasmavore, Trachtorn, Garsmurn, Pooideation, Carteggian…" and the list went on. She named each species, in their native tongue, exuding restrained authority. The Doctor stood behind her, staring brazenly at each commanding alien onscreen.

Donna issued a formal address:

"I ask you to pull back and withdraw from your assault on the Earth. I am one being, and cannot possibly be of use on twenty-seven separate planets. If I surrender, and accompany one of you, then that species, that planet, will be the center of a war raging across the universe. I request that you consider your options carefully, for unlimited power will place you under never-ending scrutiny. Your enemies and even your allies will be constantly looking for ways to overturn your advantage. I will issue this one warning: do not attack. And I will ask for this one pardon: do not take me." She concluded her speech with crossed arms, a high chin, and features arranged in nothing short of Noble style. Donna didn't want to end it this way, but it couldn't hurt: "Please."

The blocks holding the faces of separate generals and commanders burst into speech. Some laughed, some shouted, and some turned off-screen to consult with their fellow soldiers.

"as if we would allow the vortex—"

"unmatched power in the universe—"

"some pet of the Doctor's—"

"withdraw, for she is correct—"

"hahahahahahahahahahahaha—"

"unfortunately cannot complete the order—"

"now have advantage over our enemies—"

Time Lady Donna was right. There were few beings in the entire universe so selfless. Four screens cut out, and she saw on the atmospheric radar that those four fleets were withdrawing themselves from the perimeter. Four. She had gotten through to four. Better than none.

"Hey, hey!" the Doctor shouted at the screen. "Listen to her! Do you know what you're going to do to yourselves? To the Earth?"

_To HER?!_

Donna knew he hadn't meant to send that to her telepathically. The thought was just too strong, it leaked between them. The Doctor's shouting match was getting them nowhere, as Donna knew it would. Knowing the future was both helpful and dreadful.

Donna placed a firm hand on the Doctor's shaking form, pulling him behind her. This had to be her doing. They had to know this was her idea. And they had to know that this was real; the Doctor had tricked them before. There could be no mistaking her intent.

She placed a hand on the control panel, channeled some sort of energy she didn't know she possessed, and simply said: "Enough."

The remaining twenty-three alien commanders spoke no further, silenced by her tone and the power traveling across the communication waves.

"I want an affirmative or negative answer. Do you intend to attack the Earth if I do not surrender?"

A chorus of affirmatives rang down from the system.

"If acquired, will you utilize the possessed power of the vortex as a weapon?"

Hesitation from two more species, but the rest responded with affirmatives. Two more communication screens cut out.

"Will you… will you show mercy in this unfortunate circumstance?"

The remaining fleets responded swiftly, harshly: negative.

"Right. Understand that you will not acquire me, and you will not attack this planet, for Earth will no longer possess such a power. It's being removed. Expect another transmission in ten minutes."

She pressed a key with her forefinger and the screen went black.

"That went well," she said airily.

"Donna, what did all of that mean? Are you sure you want to leave?" the Doctor asked, resting once again on the leftover desktop. That bullet wound had done more damage than he would admit. Hence a slow Doctor.

"What do you do when you want an appliance to stop working?" she asked, fingers flying over keys at the base of the Mediator's canon. She wasn't joking about 100-words-per-minute. She moved from panel to panel, trying to keep her body between the Doctor's line of sight and her keyed instructions.

"Why would you want it to stop working?"

"Just say the appliance had the power to destroy the universe. What would you do?"

"You'd remove the power source."

"Exactly," Donna said, fingers stalling as she turned to look at the bloodied platform. She nodded at him, and began the ascent. "You've got to take out the battery."

The Doctor's face darkened and he quirked a wary brow at her actions.

"Then Donna, why are you getting _on_ the machine?"

"Who likes metaphors?" she asked, as she placed her hands into the two post holes, curling her fingers around hand grips. "I know you do. They're one of your favorite things. Right up there next to bananas and future ginger regenerations," she said. "You point a gun at somebody, they get scared. Even if that gun isn't loaded, they're still scared, because it very well could be. So they point one back. They don't know," she said quietly. "They don't know until you unload it in front of them. And even then, you really just need to stop pointing the gun in their face. Just get rid of the thing in its entirety. You get rid of your gun, they get rid of theirs, and then the confrontation disappears."

"Donna, I don't think I like—"

"Can you flick that switch, there, Spaceman?" Donna asked. She inclined her head to one of the little green buttons on the broadcasting panel.

"Why?" the Doctor asked. "What will it do?"

"It'll start the live feed I've linked from the facility's cameras to the communications systems of the alien fleets."

"Why do we need to broadcast anything?"

"Because you have to show them that we're throwing the gun away."

"What are you going to do to the machine?"

She grimaced, not wanting to voice it.

"I'm going…" she exhaled, looked skyward, refused to tear up at this. "I've got to get rid of the bullets, too, Doctor."

And when she saw his face clench in understanding, she then realized that overwriting the system with her own encrypted password was one of her more brilliant ideas, because he was pressing buttons and sonicing furiously.

"You're not _getting rid of yourself_. That's absurd," he said, tapping keys as the sonic whirred at one of the monitors. "You increased the rotary flux levels and rerouted the transmission field. Why would… No, this is ridiculous." He started hitting keys at random. "You are going to get down off of that platform, and we'll handle the fleets just like we handled the Mediators—"

"Because _that_ went so well."

"How can you joke about something like this? And _WHY_ did you lock all of these settings?" he yelled, brandishing his sonic hysterically against the system.

"Because I knew you'd try to stop me. Doctor, we both know this is a no-win situation."

"That is NOT true."

"It's like Pompeii… We've got to give a little to save a lot."

"Not when it's _you_!" he grabbed fistfuls of hair before vaulting up the platform. "This cannot be the only way."

"Even if we destroyed the machine, someone else, some other species, they would just build another gun. Like I said, remove the bullets—"

"Would you STOP it with the metaphor?! You're talking about… you, you want to kill yourself?" he gasped.

A tear finally leaked onto her cheek, but she smiled through it. "Of course I don't _want_ to kill myself. And it's not really dying; I'm just removing myself from space. Quick little snip in the fabric, sew it right back up, everything back to normal."

"You're going to rip space apart? Just like that?"

"By altering the transmission field, I can trigger an implosive black hole. The Mediators wanted the spherical signal to spread over the whole world, annihilating any species in the presence of the atmosphere that didn't have DNA similar to my own. Basically, anything alien. So humans… and I suppose, Time Lords, to a certain extent, are safe. They did put in this remarkable failsafe for animals, too, so I wouldn't kill the African Serengeti, or the foxes in the arctic, or—"

"Donna!"

She giggled sadly, because she was sounding like him. "Anyway, I can contain it to the premises here. By concentrating so much energy that was supposed to spread out over earth's entire surface area, I can effectively extract myself from the universe."

"Do you even hear the words coming out of your mouth? This isn't a parallel; this isn't even a universe. You are literally _removing yourself from existence_!" the Doctor yelled angrily.

"You know those little bubbles that are attached to the bigger bubble on a bar of soap?" Donna asked.

"Yes…"

"Well, it's going to be nothing like that."

"How is that supposed to make me feel any better?"

"It's not. You aren't going to feel good about any of this, Doctor. But it's alright, because I do," she said, another tear falling unwillingly. "Now come here, I want a proper goodbye this time."

"How can… This cannot be the only way." He was crying, openly, just as he had when she had magically appeared back in the console room. Was that only two days ago? When had she last slept? Did it matter?

"Unfortunately, it is. It's a fixed point. I have to remove myself or the invaders will destroy Earth. There was never supposed to be more than one Time Lord anyway," she said, tilting her head affectionately. "I've got to leave the universe to save it. Don't you love the irony?"

The Doctor stood shell-shocked, eyes darting manically between the control monitors, Donna, and the large metal machine. She could see, _feel_ his brain working, churning, a tempest of possibilities as he discarded one ineffective idea after the next.

"Why can't I do it?" he asked.

"Because they built this machine for me. Not exactly isomorphic, but they had my blood, my medical records. When you turn it on, it'll register my DNA via blood analysis. Hence the straps," Donna said, indicating the wrist restraints at the top of the metal posts. "You always threatened to tie me up and leave me on the TARDIS if I got too mouthy."

"You realize what you're saying, though? The permanence of this decision? I won't be able to… You understand that you are consigning yourself to an existence in a nonsynchronous chronon loop. You're not just out of sync with time; you're ripping yourself from space!"

"Anyone can _die_, Spaceman," Donna said haughtily. "It takes someone truly wizard to eradicate themselves from existence."

He grabbed her about the waist, molded himself to her, cringed when his aching shoulder hit her own.

"But you don't get to sulk, do you hear me?" she said, tears coming, voice still surprisingly steady. "You have to keep going, because this is not your fault. This was inevitable, and this is something I am choosing to do. You will not make this about you, okay?"

"But I only… I just got you back." He kissed her, pulled her hand from the post, intertwined their fingers. "We were going to be so happy."

"You will still be happy! All of time and space, _something_ will make you happy. And if not, that's your own fault; too hard to please, silly Time Lords."

She was really trying to keep this light; not to let him wallow in this. Her decision. Her sacrifice. She was finally living for something better than herself.

"Doctor, there are some rules about coming from Earth: _Whatever is begotten, born and dies._ Remember, in the void? We all have to go sometime. It seems early, but it's my time. I'm alright; I want to do this. This time, I won't forget, even if they can't remember. A nice little reverse, wouldn't you say?"

"Why does the universe see fit to take every good thing from me?"

"Because the universe knows you're the only one that can handle it."

"But why you?"

"Well, if you look at our history, I might just show up in your console room again when you least expect it."

"I can only hope," he whispered.

This time, she kissed him, and elicited a gentle pressure from their wrapped hands.

"No. Don't only hope. Because you'll lose yourself in that. Act, explore, continue. Keep going. Find someone, Doctor. Because you'll need someone to stop you, to keep you going, to encourage, discourage, slap you over the head when you go too Spacemany. Basically, get someone's who is going to argue with you," she continued with a smile.

The Doctor closed his eyes and breathed through his mouth, gaunt face coming to a decision.

"Donna, if... if this is it, you should know, I want you to know…"

He bent to her brow, brought his hands to her face, just like their last goodbye. She felt Gallifreyan words tumble across her consciousness, a signifier, an identification… a name.

"No," she wrested from his grip.

"Donna, I want you to know this. To know who I am," he pleaded.

"You are so daft. I already know who you are." She placed a hand on his chest. "You, are some silly Martian who kidnaps people on their wedding days. And you are the not-quite-man that chose me to keep him under control. Someday, you'll find someone to tell that name to. But to me, you'll always be Spaceman."

Donna threw a look over at the console, realizing she'd promised a transmission to the alien fleets. They had to watch her do this. Watch her go.

"It's time, Spaceman," she whispered, disentangling her hand from his, placing it back in the metallic hollow of the post. "I just need you to flip the transmission switch. The energy will take this entire place down, okay?"

"I can't stay with you?"

"You need to go find your blue box. See if you can upgrade it to a Ferrari or something," she said, teasing. "Doctor, don't revenge me. These aliens, they want me to protect their planets. Let it go. Don't be a moping wretch, some old man locking himself away. Keep traveling, keep learning. Sing and laugh and live and heal. Know that you made me better, and that you are everything."

And she kissed him, like _she_ was the one going off to war. She put everything into it, enfolded his consciousness with her own, withheld nothing, even showed him that little bit of fear she still retained. When she broke, she did so with a nudge, indicating his descent from the platform.

"I love you, Donna Noble."

"I'm so sorry Doctor, but we…"

"We had the best of times."

"The absolute best. The switch, Doctor. And the activation button."

He flipped it, and revived the communications screen, confused alien faces staring down at her on the Delta wave platform. His final tear fell as he mashed the activation button, still smeared with Ed's blood.

She cleared her throat, confidence returning once again. She didn't look at the Doctor as he trudged slowly from the control room. He didn't look over his shoulder as he turned the corner to the hallway.

"To all remaining hostile alien forces," Donna began. "The energy of the vortex is too powerful for one species to control, even my own. So, it will be destroyed. Unless you leave now, I plan to sacrifice myself so that no one planet misuses it."

There were some double takes on alien features, even three species whose signals were cut. And those three she saw disappear from the radar. There were, however, still twenty merciless species waiting, poised, ready to call what they saw as a bluff.

"So be it. Doctor? Doctor?" Donna called for two reasons. The first, to make sure he was really out of the building. The second, so that the races would know he was not associated with this. That he had no trick up his sleeve, sonic-powered or otherwise, and that this was her. The end to her story. And they were about to see the ballsiest human move of all time.

"It's been a pleasure kicking your alien arse. Goodbye."

And with the cheekiest parting words in history, Donna tapped into the Time Lord power of the vortex. The shimmering archway vibrated, began shaking, emanating energy ripples that began pulling down the rafters of the building. Faces stared down unwaveringly from the screen. They still didn't believe. She, however was burning from the inside out. Roasting, the melting yellow walls from her suspension bleeding into her reality. On her knees now, she continued pouring herself into the radiating energies, feeling the last dregs of her life force tear space apart so she could step through. Another adventure, maybe. She would not go with her head down to these aggressors.

Raising her chin, she saw the Doctor at the end of the hallway, smiling, pure pride and affection for his most faithful companion. The building was crumbling, and her body was disintegrating, but at least she got to see her Spaceman smile as the last pulse of energy pulled her from existence.

**Don't hate me... I'll take the flames. I'm sorry. But it had to be this way. For this story, anyway. Didn't intend it when I started, but the thread ran throughout: she'd rather die knowing. Review if you care to.**


	19. Epilogue: No Moping, Spaceman

**Once again, I'm very sorry, but it had to be done. I don't own it. The beginning, the end, the middle. All belong to BBC, Davies, Moffat. I've enjoyed writing this piece. I've also hated writing it. But if they had to end, I'd rather this than what really happened. Better to die living, as Donna said. Enjoy this final bit :)**

The Doctor watched as she exerted her final wave of effort, the energy wave engulfing him as he felt Donna flash into nonexistence. It hit him full force and knocked him from his feet. The Delta wave integrated itself into his system, slowly decimating his cells. He sensed it; he was going to regenerate.

Rising from the rubble of the building, the Doctor picked his way over debris and bodies, finally facing a dawning sky. He saw ships hovering over London in the morning light retreat, fly away, for there was no energy to possess; no weapon to take. Donna was gone.

But what a brilliant exit, he thought, the light of the new morning piercing his blurred vision. Blurred from dust, from tears, from the force of the Delta wave. He ambled down streets, his insides roiling about, rearranging themselves, preparing for their own death. Perhaps he should say goodbye to his remaining friends, the ones he could still reach.

_Hurry up Spaceman, you don't have all day. Can't very well put on a fireworks show in the city centre._

"I know, I know," he said softly. His shot shoulder throbbed as his arm hung by his side. He didn't take the time to manufacture a sling; he wouldn't need it much longer. Years of wandering had honed his TARDIS sense, and he finally found her parked in a back alley. He looked awful, but this was it. He needed to say goodbye with this face, so he set to work, hitting controls, bracing himself as he landed, time and time again, just to glimpse the faces of past companions, past friends. Maybe not a real goodbye; more of a send-off. To this edition of himself.

Because he knew it now. He could never be this version without her. This version was a Spaceman for the most important woman in the universe, for the only Time Lady he wanted to travel with. Back in the console room, he waited. Wouldn't be long now.

Until his phone started ringing.

"He— hello?"

Another Sontaran appeared on the screen, holding his fisted hand at salute.

"Am I speaking with the Doctor?"

"Yes, but not for long."

"Excuse me?"

"Never mind," the Doctor gasped; the Delta wave was taking his lungs. "What is it?"

"My name is Strax, former Commander of the Special Operative Sontaran division."

"Lovely to meet you Strax, although, once again…" a shaking breath. "Not the best time."

"Then my message will be brief. Doctor, I stood with my double twin, my clone brother, Strix, during the warning issued to the Sontaran division sent for acquisition of the Noble one. I was demoted to nurse—" he sneered at the term, "and thus commanded to stay behind on the Sontaran ship. I am the only surviving Sontaran from the acquisition team, and according to Sontaran code, owe the Noble one a debt."

The Doctor shut his eyes to the message, hating to voice his loss so soon.

"She's gone Strax. Martyred, if you will."

"Noble indeed," the nurse nodded. "My debt passes to you, sir, should you need me in the future. Farewell, Doctor." The message cut out.

Gotta love the woman, the Doctor thought. Out of this world and already giving him more allies. He stumbled down the hallway, pain burgeoning outward; gold flecks started to appear on his scraped skin. He found the door he was looking for, shouldering it open and examining the room, as if its occupant would step out of the bathroom and completely berate him for getting blood on the carpet.

Silence, except for the ticking from the open timepiece on the nightstand: the object that held her inside. He crossed the room, didn't want to look at the rumpled sheets; he couldn't help it, though. Knowing the first was the last. It _hurt_. And that wasn't the Delta wave working its way through his body. It hurt his hearts. Slumping onto the bed, the Doctor ran his good hand over his head and gripped the chain of her watch tightly. He was about to give into grief, to cradle himself on her pillow, inhale the little bit that was left of her, and not resurface until he was a different person completely. Before he could, the Doctor noticed a neon sticky-note, contrasting the reflective surface of Donna's vanity mirror. It read:

_Silly Spaceman. Stop moping: 828.402 YEA ( )_

The Doctor furrowed his brow, scratched his head. An order and a number. That had certainly not been clinging to the mirror when he and Donna had… when he was last here. When he had been with her…

_This meant she had known._ That she foresaw her fate; knew she wasn't coming back.

His pain turned to anger. Anger at her, at the vortex, at the complete and utter stupidity that was a bloody _fixed point_. He crumpled the paper, aiming for the wastebasket. It fell short, but he stomped out of the room, slamming her door.

And then promptly came right back in, carefully unfolding the note. No way was that woman going to have the last word, he thought. Numbers… numbers… 828.402… not a telephone, fax… coordinates? No, needed axis points. Followed letters. Some sort of classification? Numerical, alphabetical.

He snapped the fingers of his good hand and set off toward the library. The pain wasn't so bad anymore; he had a mission, a mystery. Even now she was getting the better of him, keeping his mind off the pain. He grinned a little.

"8-2-8-point-4-0-2. Y-E-A… 8-2-8, 8-2-8." He perused his expansive collection, rather large, considering he had maintained an earthly classification system for alien books. But he found it.

"Nineteen hundred and twenty-eight, _The Tower_. Page, ninety-four." He thumbed through the volume quickly. He could feel the burning coming up. Best not be in a room full of flammable papers he thought, and shuffled back to the hallway, letting out a cry as his interior started the process.

"_An aged man is but a paltry thing,_" he read. "No quarrel with you there, mate," he said, eyes scanning the page."_A tattered coat upon a stick, unless / Soul clap its hands and sing, and louder sing / For every tatter in its mortal dress,_" He looked down at his ripped suit, dried blood stains and burn marks and shreds from that silly glass box.

"_Nor is there singing school but studying / Monuments of its own magnificence; / And therefore I have sailed the seas and come / To the holy city of Byzantium."_

Donna had told him to keep going. To keep learning, to keep traveling, all the way to his own Byzantium. He laughed at her final direction in the second stanza; the very poem that had been her end. The first few lines belonged to her: "_Those dying generations… whatever is begotten, born and dies_." But he had not been 'begotten', not in the traditional sense. He would not be an old moping wretch, locking himself away. She forbade it. And hell hath no fury like defying Donna Noble's edicts.

The gold regeneration energy finally made its way to his exterior, shrouding his hands, clouding his face. The burning, he felt it, but he didn't want to leave. To not be this person any more, would mean he wouldn't be the man he was when he was with her.

"I don't want to go," he muttered.

Or did he? Some version of him was leaving… maybe to be with her. And so, when the pain took him, when the change occurred, he kept going. One, because he had promised her he would, and two, because his spaceship was crashing, his console room having turned into a coral-fueled furnace. Curious at this new self, he checked quickly, to see if she had left her mark on him in any way.

"Still not ginger!" he muttered.

But when he climbed out of the TARDIS with his grappling hook (thankful for vacating the library, as the swimming pool was now _in_ the library) he saw a little girl. And she was ginger. And the first thing she did was call him weird.

The Doctor liked to think Donna Noble had a hand in that.

The End.

**For more Doctor/Donna, I've written two other stories with them: Full Circle, and a longer crossover that includes former PM Harriet Jones titled, The Doctor at Downton. They end much better than this one. Have a read if you like. Leave a review if you feel so inclined. No pressure though.**

**I will also be posting a very heavy prequel one-shot to this. It's angst-filled, so you might want to give it a day or two after finishing this piece before jumping to that one. Or not. Your choice. I thank you heartily for your readership and criticism. I only want to get better!  
**


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